


nocturne

by choimiah



Category: GOT7
Genre: 2Jae, Anxiety, Comfort/Angst, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-09
Updated: 2016-01-09
Packaged: 2018-05-12 20:27:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 25,797
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5679637
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/choimiah/pseuds/choimiah
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Youngjae won't call himself normal. He knows how to whoop ass in Zombie Slayer III and how which strokes create a beautiful illusion on his canvas. But, he doesn't know people. Jaebum poses an uncomfortable challenge for him.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>(original idea gracefully gifted to me by incessantcomposition on tumblr! </p>
<p>although, i tweaked it a little...or a lot *sweats nervously*)</p>
            </blockquote>





	nocturne

**Author's Note:**

> Trigger Warning: Vivid depictions of anxiety and night terrors.

Trumpets crowd Youngjae’s bedroom in noise; the breakdown spills over his organs like the fire they were born to be, and smother him in ice as the end rolls around eventually. He’s too relaxed to slide anything else onto the player, and so he lies on his mattress nook. One leg is digging into the wood of the wall opposite to the one his head is lolling back on and the other is dangling over the edge. Silence spills out of the record player so consistently that Youngjae is on the verge of falling asleep. His eyes are already drooping and he can taste sleep as vividly as the pills he’s supposed to be taking but isn’t. They have a similar flavor. Chalky and stagnant; the tang sits on his tongue and refuses to go away.

The taste is still lingering in the recesses of his conscious when Youngjae comes to hours later. Moonlight paints his bedroom a sketchy shade of dark shadows and sinister angles that all merge into a blotch of indecipherable grey beyond the tip of his nose. He contemplates actually getting in bed, but fears stepping on something important, or slipping on his mess of a floor in the dark, so he snuggles right where he is; his eyes close, though, he has trouble finding sleep.

Youngjae can’t dread the coming morning more than he already does. Being homeschooled is bad enough without the ridicule of strangers who think he’s some asocial freak. The tutors his dad hires are always middle aged women with pinched faces and more commentary on how he should live his life than his academics. It isn’t too bad when they dissolve into the kitchen to clank glasses and talk his dad’s ear off, which the old man probably doesn’t mind too terribly, but he’d rather complete online courses at his own pace. His dad was understanding enough after giving up his dream of having a superstar midfielder for a son, but he gets frustrated sometimes, seeing Youngjae locked up in his bedroom. As much as Youngjae feels for his mourning of the perfect son he wishes his dad would hide his disappointment a little better.

 

After a night of fitful sleep Youngjae rises at around six. The comforts of his nook are all too inviting. He could sink back into the pillows and nod off. Oddly enough, nights are a restless period for Youngjae. But, the morning is when he actually can sleep a little, off and on, when he doesn’t have tutoring scheduled. Though, despite the enticement, he drags himself off the mattress and into the hallway. The winter draft is freezing all of his extremities, and the heater is off. The toasty lick of warmth he usually looks forward to is absent. He’s cold, tired, and almost as if it was planned, he feels the pang of hunger twist his stomach into a knot and the growl follows immediately after. 

“Jae,” his dad’s voice echoes from somewhere below him, the kitchen, probably, judging from the sound of silverware on a cutting board. Youngjae is barely awake, exhausted from not sleeping, but his feet instinctively carry him down the hall. He cracks an eye open so he doesn’t break his neck on the stairs and by the time he reaches the bottom both of his eyes are open and he’s shivering.

“Hungry, son?” His dad emerges from the kitchen wearing a blue apron that has ‘#1 Pops’ written on the chest in green lettering. His smooth, tanned face is smiling, lines crinkled around his lips and beside his eyes.

“Yeah,” Youngjae says, scratching his shoulder mindlessly.

“How does stew sound?” He waves a serrated spoon.

“Sounds cool, dad. I can make it, though.” Youngjae approaches, only to be stopped when his dad raises his empty hand.

“Shower.”

“You have work soon,” Youngjae combats.

“And you have school.” The tone of his dad’s voice causes something hot to leap inside of Youngjae’s chest, and quiver. His bright eyes and coy smile that are begging ‘please be a normal son’ shatters every defiant bone in Youngjae’s body. 

“Okay,” with that one word, the tension in his dad’s shoulders squeezes from the wound joints and he visibly relaxes, even spares Youngjae’s insufferably messy, possibly greasy, raven locks a gentle ruffle, and then he’s off into the kitchen. 

“Put on something nice,” his dad shouts, bodiless, once Youngjae is in the shower. One of the many disadvantages of having a bathroom on the first floor is there is zero privacy. When Youngjae has to relieve himself he’s stuck with his dad asking him questions about his bowel movements as they’re happening, and other weird, embarrassing things he won’t readily answer. Another thing is that his dad never forgets to remind Youngjae to take his meds on his way out to work. Youngjae rarely takes his meds because he hates the loopy feeling. Every step he takes on them is labored and rigid, like he’s walking in quicksand and gradually sinking, while his head stays above, just to remind him that he’s painfully conscious, and not, at the same time.

“Take your meds,” his dad’s shout easily penetrates the door between them.

“Yeah, dad,” Youngjae shouts back over the running shower. After a few minutes of muffled rustling there’s quiet. Youngjae probably just couldn’t hear the click of the door over the water. It’s weird, sometimes, when he thinks of all the ways his dad practices this strange delicacy regarding Youngjae now. There are times when he can feel his dad easing into things unnecessarily slow and timid, as if Youngjae will have a nervous breakdown or something. 

Bottom line is, meds suck, and Youngjae won’t be taking them any time soon. No matter how many times his dad reminds him to. The water eventually runs cold and Youngjae chooses this moment to wrap himself in a fluffy towel. He jogs back upstairs, disregarding the droplets soaking the hardwood, and applies lotion at a slow pace. Eight a.m. rolls around soon enough, Youngjae, realizing this with a heavy sigh, finishes dressing and goes back downstairs to lounge on the couch until the doorbell rings. 

“Idonwannaaaa,” Youngjae groans into the crook of his elbow, rubbing his face afterward and stretching with a loud yawn. He drops the remote on his way up and answers the door. The first sensation that blasts him directly in his unprotected face is the biting winter gust, and the second is the young man standing on the other side of the door. To say he's handsome would be an overstatement seeing as most of his face, besides his eyes and nose, is hidden beneath the shadow of his coat’s hood and suffocating in the brown scarf wrapped around his head. Though, there’s an aura that leaks into the surrounding space and intrudes so heavily into the room that Youngjae stumbles over his words. The feeling is an overwhelming one that freezes his brain cells momentarily. They finally thaw out when a guttural sound sparks through Youngjae and he steps back, coming to his senses a little.

“And you are…?”

“Jaebum,” the young man answers as if that’s all that needs to be said.

“Am I supposed to know who you are?” Youngjae asks bluntly.

“Im Jaebum,” the young man repeats, voice slightly muffled by the scarf. “Your tutor.”

Youngjae back-steps, genuinely baffled. He does a once over of the young man. Albeit incredibly rude, Youngjae can’t help himself. There seemed to be an agenda his father followed when it came to choosing tutors. They were usually female, in their early to mid forties and obviously had a pungent distaste for teenagers despite their chosen field of work but had no problem with hanging around Youngjae’s dad. Youngjae had no preference whether or not his dad dated. Unlike teens in similar situations as his, he wasn’t old enough when his mother left to resent her for it. He drowns in his room with jars of paint and used easels and cracking brushes; his dad’s relationship with women is the least of Youngjae’s cares. But, he’s more than shocked, slightly curious even, at his dad's choice this time around.

“Could I come in?” Jaebum’s voice is the catalyst for Youngjae stepping aside for him to come in and closing the door. The young man toes out of his boots and lingers by the door while stripping out of his coat.

“The closet is the door beside the stairs.” Youngjae moves further out of the way as the man nods and walks over. As he removes his outerwear, layer by layer, Youngjae becomes entranced by the handsome and built man that appears. His broad back, crescent moon biceps and wide chest noticeably stretch the black, textured turtleneck he’s wearing; indigo jeans hug his firm thighs and a silver chain jingles from his left pocket, linked into a belt loop. He turns and Youngjae loses his breath. Not only from the slim, attractive eyes that find his in the snow-lit room, but from the familiar tightening of his throat that wobbles his legs and chucks him into the sea without so much as a spare tire to cling onto.

“Did you want to start with anything in particular?” Jaebum takes a seat at the glass dining room table and slings a shoulder bag Youngjae had been too distracted to notice before on top of it. He spends a few seconds processing the words and even more time conjuring an answer. 

“Not really. Let me grab my backpack.” Youngjae looks back every now and then as he’s fleeing up the stairs and discerns with an appropriate amount of dread that Jaebum is gorgeous. As soon as Youngjae reaches his bedroom he shuts the door and dives onto his bed, groping frenetically for his phone in a flurry of excitement and terror. He quickly shoots a text to Yugyeom before gathering himself and going back downstairs with his backpack gripped in one hand, phone swathed in the pocket of his grey sweats. 

By the time Youngjae's seated at Jaebum’s side, the man at the head and Youngjae at the corner, the nerves come slithering around Youngjae’s ankles, twisting and winding up to clutch his knees. The underside of his thighs are sweating from the close proximity, but he can’t move farther now or else Jaebum might see him as being rude. Though, it’s hard to concentrate on much of what the man is saying when his mind is overcome with the heat crackling in his ears. He presses one hand to the lump of his pants and hopes that Yugyeom isn’t paying attention in class (when is he ever?). 

“Do you think you can do this?” Jaebum passes him the open booklet. Youngjae nods and accepts the pen. Youngjae has no clue what aspect of the problem the man was explaining, but he already knows how to do it. His fingers pinch the ridges of the pen harder than necessary and by the time he’s finished dark blue splotches bleed over the i’s far too often for Youngjae to pass it off as a slip of the wrist. He just hopes Jaebum isn’t nearly as perceptive as he looks with his sharp eyes inquirious and calculating. 

“Good job.” Jaebum leans further into Youngjae’s space, minty breath and musky cologne purging his nervous system and lighting his veins on fire. “Keep going if you can.”

Youngjae’s hands clam up under the pressure. The pen threatens to slip from his grasp every time he loosens his grip. Jaebum isn’t helping even when he probably thinks he is, pointing out Youngjae’s miscalculations and giving him tips on how to cut his work in half (what the teen could really use is some space between their arms). Youngjae suddenly misses the old, flirtatious women as Jaebum is oblvious to the tremors rumbling throughout Youngjae’s entire body, resulting in an even tension rendering his limbs useless as they tremble and Youngjae’s actually panicking now because he’s sure that his discomfort is visible by this point-

“I have to use the bathroom.” Youngjae stands without warning, grunts at the sound of his kneecap scraping the edge of the table before the pain even hits, and then apologizes needlessly as he stumbles to the bathroom. He shuts the door and releases the breath that’s been caught in his ribs for the past few minutes, head finally clearing. Youngjae’s thigh vibrates two seconds too late. He nearly rips his phone out to check the message.

Don’t do that thing where you pinch your face like you’re going to cry from holding your breath and relax.  
-Yug, 8:40am

Youngjae swipes his finger over the call button and sits on the toilet lid. The phone rings three or four times before going to voicemail and Youngjae buries in it back in his sweats, pressing his fingers into his knees through the fabric. His heart is knocking against his skull, blood hot and fast between his ears as he thinks about going back out there, sitting really close to Jaebum and suffocating himself with thick cologne in place of highly concentrated floral scents. 

Youngjae loses himself in thought for some time. Schemes on how to get out of tutoring today run through his mind. He could fake a stomach ache, but that would only warrant his dad to make an industrial size pot of his watery porridge and scalding ginseng tea. 

...relax.

Youngjae nods, takes a deep breath and walks out. The room is compressed with tension when Youngjae sits down. The teen is deeply uncomfortable with the stare Jaebum is fixing him, dark brown eyes analytical with a slight squint and lips thin.

“Are you alright?” Jaebum asks.

“Fine.” Youngjae nods unnecessarily fast, embarrassment heating his face. “I’m perfectly fine.”

Jaebum’s smooth chuckle doesn’t help the abashment Youngjae feels at his inability to function normally at the moment. 

“I tend to be rigid.” Jaebum grins nervously. “It’s easier that way. Sorry if I’m making you feel weird or something.” 

“You aren’t,” Youngjae replies softly, and clears his throat, speaking louder then. “I’m usually, uhm...-” 

“Strange?” Jaebum offers.

“You could say.” Youngjae nods, lips curving upward slightly and head bowing as another round of warmth irritates his cheeks.

“So am I,” Jaebum confesses, a little noise slipping from his lips that sounds like a sigh and a laugh mixed together, fraught. “Even my friends think I’m a little off. There’s a method to fitting in with people that I learned to manipulate a while ago. They’re all the same, unless they’re not, ya’ know?”

No, Youngjae doesn’t know. He has no idea as to what the man is saying. Youngjae and people (read: general public, because Yugyeom is not a real person, he’s an alien) are like lava and grass, two completely separate beings with no reason to cross paths. Yugyeom is not people; he understands that when Youngjae crawls into himself and refuses to come up for air he isn’t mad at the world. Just tired of it. And more than a little scared. The thought of fast-moving cars, and horns honking, and expensive men with loud shoes, and wide open spaces churns anxiety. 

Jaebum may not be people, either.

Youngjae pounds away at assignment after assignment. His fingers are cramping by the time one p.m. hits and he’s only half an exam away from sweet freedom. He’s numb to the presence near him. His concentration has returned, somewhat, and he can proudly say that he probably won’t fail any classes this term. Youngjae vaguely ponders the reason for his dad switching tutors in the middle of the school year, Youngjae’s three-quarter benchmark. His quota for the year is nearly met. He can take a break in a few weeks. Youngjae has never complained about his tutors, rebuked their sour demeanors in his head, sure, but never aloud for fear of sounding like a brat and bringing his dad more trouble than he needs. There is no plausible reason he can come up with, so he gives up.

“We’re done for today.”

Youngjae nods and closes his laptop. He sits quiet while Jaebum collects his belongings. The teen is distracted by the man’s long, thin fingers and blunt nails that clasp around whatever he’s grabbing. Pale blue veins strain against his alabaster complexion, creating a dangerous contrast within itself. The man’s adam's apple bobs right above the collar of his turtleneck. Youngjae squirms, not entirely pleased with how he’s staring, hard, and yet, he can’t really help himself. 

“You’re really bright,” Jaebum praises casually as he’s still organizing his things, hands busy and eyes inside of his bag. “I could help you with college stuff if you want.”

The word ‘college’ combusts in the pit of Youngjae’s gut. 

“I’m only a sophomore.” Youngjae doesn’t mention that he’s debating whether or not to even go to college. He’s afraid that his dad will blow a gasket. After years of conforming to Youngjae’s strangeness he might actually lose it at that. And the last thing Youngjae wants is to put his dad in the hospital for having a conniption fit. It isn’t like Youngjae would normally tell Jaebum, a stranger, any of this. But, if there were special circumstances in which he had no choice he would definitely leave this bit of information out. 

“It’s never too early to start thinking about your future, Youngjae. Unexpected things happen.”

Youngjae nods hollowly at the words. He is aware that unexpected things happen. His life is a series of ‘unexpected things’. The teen is almost as afraid of veering off his own schedule than he is of creating an entirely new one, opening doors to all types of unforeseen accidents and vast uncertainty. He isn’t ready for any of it and he can’t be sure that he ever will. 

“Tomorrow then, Youngjae.” Jaebum smiles pleasantly, walking over to the closet.

Youngjae nods in farewell. “Tomorrow...-”

“Jaebum-hyung.” The man grins, looking back as he pulls on his coat.

“See you tomorrow, ...hyung,” Youngjae coughs awkwardly. 

Youngjae watches as Jaebum walks from the closet to the door. He pauses to offer the younger a small smile and a salute that doesn’t fail to make his heart sutter uncomfortably. Youngjae doesn’t bar the laugh that bubbles out of him and even raises his hand to wave. He probably looks like a three year-old. But, the warmth that sprouts in the base of his throat and spirals upward to reach his quirking lips is welcome despite his earlier apprehensions. 

Jaebum leaves just as quickly as he’d come. 

Youngjae notes the wiggle of one of the man’s legs; it’s not nearly prominent enough to compare with a lumber. But, it’s there, and it makes Youngjae more curious than he expects to be. Both of the man’s arms and one leg, the left one, work in smooth unision. Though, his right leg is oddly stagnant in movement like the other limbs are trying to move it with them but he doesn’t want to go. Of course all of this is so minor that Youngjae wonders if his eyes are tricking him even through all of his observations. There are times when he feels himself to be so disconnected with people that he has no choice but to dismiss his observations in order to save face. So, he doesn’t say anything and just waves. 

* * *

“He was handsome,” Youngjae says mindlessly as he dips some brushes into water with a possessed meticulousness. The once soapy water looks filthy now. A tingling sensation rattles his cold skin. He forgets to burrow beneath the covers of his window seat, obvlious to the chill seeping in through the splinters in the wood.

“But, you don’t like people.” Yugyeom puts on a shit-eating grin. “To be safe is to mate within one’s respective species.”

“Then elope with a fellow jackass philosopher and raise monkeys in your Buddhist temple, asshat,” Youngjae snaps, the cloud lifting from around his ears and reality dawning on him, piece by piece.

“If I didn’t practice pacifism I’d woop your ass for that.”

“Bullshit, Yug. You socked me a few days ago for making fun of your dumb hat.”

“There are certain exceptions for disrespect of holy attire.”

“Are there also exceptions for being fake spiritual?” 

“You,” Yugyeom sighs with his forefinger and thumb pinching the bridge of his nose, “are fucking up my mantra energy.”

“What did you hatch out of?”

“Your vagina!” Yugyeom sniggers raucously. He can’t roll out of the way fast enough before a battery clips him on the forehead. Youngjae laughs at the way Yugyeom’s eyes flush with water and tremble like he’s going to burst out in tears. 

“Bastard,” he whimpers while probing the red dot blooming. “That fucking hurt.”

“Talk shit, get hit, Gyeom.”

“Fuck you,” Yugyeom grumbles.

“Oh, wouldn’t you like to?” Youngjae ducks out of the way of a flying pillow and chuckles as he darts out of the way of a balled blanket. 

“Whatever.” Yugyeom props his chin in one palm, rolling on his stomach on Youngjae’s bed. “Tell me about this Casanova.”

“He’s my tutor,” Youngjae says, straight-faced at first, then his nose scrunches at the acidic fumes wafting from the bit of cleaning solution spilled on his thumb. He wipes it off on his sweats even though the bottle says it’s toxic. 

“Wrong,” Yugyeom breathes dramatically. “He’s your savior. You turn into a potato around everyone else. You actually talked to this guy.”

“That’s normal, though,” Youngjae says, frustrated. He is equal parts tired and irritated of his dad and Yugyeom putting Youngjae’s ‘improvement’ on a pedestal. He isn’t doing anything special by interacting with other humans. It’s just that Youngjae’s normal is abnormal in a real world context. Praising him for not having a anxiety induced panic attack in a low-stress social situation is like praising a fish for swimming, something they do by nature, or, at least by imitation. Considering Youngjae has never met any average standard it’s redundant to say he’s strange, and so all of this irrelevant. That is something to be acknowledged. But, no matter how much of this is truth, Youngjae can’t stand the thought of it.

“You’re not normal,” Yugyeom reminds.

“Wow, thanks, Gyeom,” Youngjae deadpans.

“You know what I mean.”

“I do,” Youngjae bites out. 

After a minute of silent consideration Youngjae opens his mouth.

“He’s not all that different than from what I’ve seen,” Youngjae begins pensively, hands wiggling in his pockets. “I…can’t really place him. He seems nice enough, social enough. Average. But, there has to be something different about him. And he does this thing when he walks that might be nothing. I don’t think it’s nothing, though. He makes me nervous and it isn’t the average stuff. I didn’t even want him to leave, but now I’m really fucking scared that he’ll come back before I’m ready.”

“Ready for what?” Yugyeom prods.

“Ready to show I can function like the average person does.”

“You just have to practice, Youngjae, and believe in yourself.”

“Bullshit, Gyeom.”

 

 

Sleep never comes easy for Youngjae. Contrary to the perpetuation of dreams as peace bearers and an escape from daily struggles, Youngjae’s dreams are a canvas of his terrors; Loneliness and disillusion stretch far beyond his realm of consciousness. Skyscrapers concave around his huddled form, a hunk of quivering flesh on the concrete. His screams are separate from his own body. He can hear them, yet his throat is barren, motionless. 

The morning is darker than usual. Dark grey clouds flock the winter sky and promise a possible reprieve from the snow. Youngjae hates the thought of them. 

His schedule consists of drowning in a nest of blankets on his bed, sending an aggravating text to Yugyeom for his having to go to school on this very cold, very dark Thursday morning, and maybe eating something should he venture beyond his bedroom. Something that hardly seems likely. 

No tutoring means no people and Youngjae is more relaxed than he’s been in a while. If Yugyeom were here he’d quote some Confucius shit and half-encourage half-force Youngjae to at least go to the store. They’ve been out of ramen for a while, and as much as Youngjae practically lives on msg when his dad is on one of his insufferable diets and refuses to prepare anything with half a taste, Youngjae won’t go. It’s been a few weeks since he’s gone farther than his front lawn to fetch the mail. That in no way beats his record of months at a time, but the time weighs more heavily on him as he gets older. 

A ten year-old knew nothing of the repercussions isolation brought. Scooby Doo gummies and several stacks of video games he’d yet to beat marked the years of his childhood; the passing of time was trivial in his quest to become the best warrior in the land, or avenger in his realm. 

Sixteen is much different from ten. 

One thing that turns this strange morning into an even stranger one is that his dad’s ceremonial shout is missing, the heat is still off and there are no sounds. Youngjae walks down to the kitchen, barefoot and frozen toed. His dad is sitting at the island with a small notebook cracked in front of him. His uncharacteristic silence doesn’t fail to set the teen on edge.

“You busy?” Youngjae goes to claim an empty stool.

“Huh?” His dad blinks up at him, brown eyes cloudy and creases from worry denting his wide forehead. “Oh, yeah, a bit. Hey, son. There’s something kind of serious that...that I’ve gotta tell you.”

“Shoot, dad.”

“I’m going on a business trip for a while.”

“Okay.”

“Longer than usual.”

“...Okay.”

“The company lost some money during a recent venture and salaries were cut, temporarily, if we can correct the mistake and make up for the losses. That’s gonna take a while, though. One month at the minimum, possibly much longer.” His dad sighs. “My friend’s son, Jaebum, offered to help out. He goes to a local college and has a pretty flexible schedule.”

Realization dawns on Youngjae. This is his dad’s way of dropping a bomb without a bang. 

“He’ll be staying here while I’m gone.”

If Youngjae had previously thought he could deal with intrusions a few times a week by his new tutor then this revelation obliterates everything he felt prior to a minute ago. Focusing his attention on whatever subject and training his anxiety to hold its breath under the surface of Youngjae’s skin for two or three extremely uncomfortable hours is doable---on most days. But, round-the-clock surveillance by some stranger lurking around his home is a feat of the gods. Youngjae can’t see how he’ll accomplish it. His first instinct is to throw a tantrum and cling onto his dad’s legs so he won’t go. 

But, ten is very different from sixteen. 

“When are you leaving?”

“Later today. I have to take some money out of the bank to pay Jaebum in advance and go grocery shopping first.” His dad places a rough, veiny hand on top of Youngjae’s pale one. “You’re gonna be okay, promise.”

Youngjae nods, eyes finding shaky purchase on the grains in the island and lightly biting into his tongue at the side of his mouth, the way he does when a situation is coming that he has no control over and he can’t figure out what to do with himself. 

“Jaebum should be here later tonight.”

Youngjae nods again. 

His dad leaves later in the day, at around six p.m., and Youngjae is left to sulk in the living room. He had gone through a short period of intense aggravation for his dad actually thinking that Youngjae needs a babysitter, as grown as a sixteen year-old boy is. 

It passed.

It’s pitch black now and colder than ever with the heat on low instead of the usual medium to high setting. Now he’s just an anxious mess, watching the minutes tick by in tense silence. Yugyeom had offered to come over, but Youngjae insistently refused. The last thing he needs is for Yugyeom to spread his weird gospel and freak Jaebum out. He has no time to ponder whether it was a bad move on his part because knocks erupt in the silence and Youngjae is on his feet before the last one falls. He tries to look like he won’t pass out when he opens the door. 

For some reason, the Jaebum Youngjae had conjured in his mind when he needed something to dread isn’t the same Jaebum that is standing before him now. This Jaebum is grinning, rosy-cheeked from the cold and shivering, but still nice. 

“I thought I was gonna freeze my ass off just getting to the door.” Jaebum laughs and Youngjae’s head explodes in relief. He steps out of Jaebum’s way as the man steps inside, kicking off his boots unceremoniously. He walks over to the closet; the man’s cologne smacks Youngjae in the face as he passes. Youngjae closes the door. He’s still on edge, but the terror that surrounded this momentous encounter in his mind pales in comparison to the reality. Youngjae sometimes considers taking his meds to calm his bustling nerves, but he always decides against it. He’d rather be drowning in all of his hypothetical theories than living with no inhibitions. 

In the time it takes for Youngjae to close the door, collect his senses and turn around, Jaebum has already found his way into the kitchen. Youngjae wants to follow him. But, the awkward that settles in wake of his fear’s departure really is worse. As expected by himself, and probably every psychologist his dad ever took him to, Youngjae flees to his room. He flips the switch to his overhead light and takes to sketching compositions on his bed.

His bedroom door, that was already cracked, creaks open further about ten minutes later. He shields the page he’s working on instinctively. His nose tips him off on the situation before his eyes do. 

Actual porridge smells delicious. His dad might want to take notes. 

“In case you were hungry.” Jaebum walks over to place the steaming bowl and spoon on Youngjae’s desk in the corner, shuffling some of his brushes and empty jars in the process. 

“Hey, thanks,” Youngjae says. 

“Yeah, no probs, bob.” Jaebum lingers in the middle of Youngjae’s floor, eyes curious and roaming everywhere. Youngjae doesn’t realize how “eccentric” his choice of decor is until he’s got someone staring all around his packed walls and seeing them for what they truly are, out of the ordinary. When Youngjae doesn’t completely hate something he’s painted, he clips it to a twine wire strung against his walls with tape. Pieces of the ugly grey space are splattered in vibrant attempts of reviving the dull color, but, as the splotches can attest to, his determination works in spurts of energy before dying as his attention span withers to boredom. 

Jaebum is standing next to the sadly empty easel in the middle of the floor, wooden legs swimming amongst carpet stains and half full jars of paint, some newer, some old as iceboxes. 

“You like to paint,” Jaebum says, lips quirking for a reason Youngjae is intensely curious about. 

“It’s a hobby.” Youngjae nods, unfolding his legs and scooting to the edge of his bed. 

“That’s...unfortunate.” Jaebum shakes his head.

“What is?” Youngjae stands now.

“It just is.” Jaebum walks over to the open door, stops just to say, “Don’t sleep on an empty stomach”, and then he closes the door completely on his way out. Youngjae sits back on his bed, his head is spinning with curiosity. The heady rush that coats his senses in anxiety and confusion is more than uncomfortable. 

 

Lightning reflects in the dilated blackness of Youngjae’s pupils. His room is dark, the same as it had been that night. He shivers violently at the thunder that whips across the sky immediately afterward. His nails are digging ruby crescent moons into his cold skin and he presses his back against the wood more. He had grown too restless in his bed, so he crawled into his window nook to count the stars like his dad taught him when he couldn’t sleep. 

Grey clouds from the morning have swelled to plump, black sacks of liquid destruction. It caught him by surprise. The soft patter he could’ve dealt with; but, when it began dropping like stones and splashing against his window in messy stripes, the transfixation warped him into a sad bubble that the sharpest knife couldn’t pop.

Now, he's stuck in it. His body is in a strange paralysis; he should be able to pull himself away from the window, but he won’t. The crackling silver illuminates the indigo sky before a boom vibrates the sill. 

Youngjae is sick to his stomach.

Something warm and solid invades his bubble. It takes a couple sturdy shakes of his entire body before Youngjae is back in his dark room again. He squints at the face inches from his. Lightning helps him place the warmth and he is drawn into the man’s arms.

“Are you okay?” Jaebum slides his hand onto the small of Youngjae’s back and presses the other higher up. The younger melts into the sweet touch. He can only feel how hard he is trembling when his tremoring chest is against Jaebum’s still one. The contrast is startling. 

“I’m f-fine,” Youngjae stutters, voice dry and unstable.

“You’re not.” Jaebum gently tugs him to his bed and sits down, pulling Youngjae into his lap. The teen is incredibly self-conscious at the turn of events. He’s small and soft against Jaebum’s solid body. The musky aroma is replaced by some generic soap, which works just fine for Youngjae. He doesn’t need another factor to scatter his common sense more than it already is.  
The comforting pressure of Jaebum massaging lines down Youngjae's back, occasionally switching to patting, briefly, before taking a break and then starting back up again maybe spans twenty minutes. Youngjae has no time to ponder how intimate this is for two people who’ve been acquainted for two days, possibly even inappropriate, because Jaebum’s strong hands soothe the shivers right out of the younger’s shoulders; he can breathe now without sniffling. 

“I won’t ask you to tell me what this is about,” Jaebum whispers right next to Youngjae’s ear, sending sparks down the latter’s neck at how loud and clear the man’s voice is in the sheer darkness of his bedroom. “Are you okay now?”

Youngjae gathers the courage to nod, it might be a lie, he’s not entirely sure. All he can tell for sure is that his toes are no longer cold and curled. His pulse is even again. He can think somewhat clearly. He should be okay for the night if his nightmares can block out the thundering storm outside.

“Hungry?”

Youngjae shakes his head.

“Do you want me to stay?”

Youngjae has the strangest urge to say ‘yes’. But, Jaebum must want to sleep. The teen can hardly see the man’s face in the dark, though, if his raspy voice is anything to go by, then he’s very tired. The teen bites down the selfish whim and shakes his head. 

“You should get some sleep,” Youngjae says. 

“I can if you want. I know what night terrors feel like, Youngjae, and they’re not fun.” Jaebum pauses. He may be waiting for Youngjae because the younger has gone silent. Then, as if the man can peer straight through Youngjae’s skull and extract his thoughts, he says, “You wouldn't be bothering me. I wish I had someone to hold two years ago. I’m okay with it, really.”

Youngjae can’t turn down what sounds like begging now. He’d be lying if he said he isn’t tempted in the slightest. Jaebum is warm, his bed is cold, and that’s really all it takes for him to lean back into the man. Jaebum wraps one hand around the teen’s waist from behind and allows Youngjae to burrow his nest of messy, raven locks into the crook of his neck, the crown nestled beneath his chin. 

“We can stay like this for a while.” Jaebum locks his grip once the teen is settled. It’s not overbearing or uncomfortable, just comforting. Youngjae closes his eyes as sleep is unlocking his joints and filling his stomach with the warmth of cherry oak burning on an open hearth. Youngjae should be concerning over indecent all of this is. He’s cuddling (because, really, what other word is there?) with a man he’s been acquainted with for less than two days. As much as his head is telling him that he should stop, his chest is telling him that he likes the extra body heat, although foreign, it’s very welcome. 

 

Youngjae realizes after a minute of blinking and staring into space, eyes lazily catching dust motes sparkling in the dawn sunshine, that he fell asleep. His nose is squashed against Jaebum’s chest and he gapes to suction oxygen through his mouth. From fear that he’ll start drooling soon with his mouth hung open he lifts his head. He can’t move far though because, somehow, he became entangled with Jaebum and the man has an iron grip around his shoulders that won’t let up however which way he twists. Youngjae doesn’t want to wake him up; the man looks so peaceful, his sharp eyebrows, which Youngjae can see so well due to his slanted angle, are tucked snugly beneath his dark fringe and his eyelids are still, calm. The only sign of movement are from his slightly parted lips, little snores slipping out that Youngjae is disturbed to find more endearing than unattractive. 

Youngjae is so distracted by the man’s slim, pink lips that he notices when the snoring stops, but not when dark brown eyes lock onto his forehead. His own slide up after a few seconds of stark realization and abashed regret for having stared so long before. His gaze finds Jaebum’s, clicking right into place at the man's gentle smile.

Nerves wriggle back into Youngjae a split second after Jaebum has mumbled his morning greetings. The elder’s fingers are like fire and ice, pressing lightly into the skin of Youngjae’s bicep, just below his shirt sleeve.

“I...have to pee,” Youngjae blubbers like the eloquent bastard he is and climbs out of Jaebum’s arms. The man is awake now and willingly lets him go. His bare feet pad down the freezing wooden steps and he bursts into the bathroom just before the cold sweats sprout on the surface of his buzzing forearms. 

Youngjae takes a long, painful look in the mirror at himself. His hair is ruffled as usual. Maybe it’s the immensely bright light spilling in from the window off to the side, but his skin is past pale, bordering on ‘Jesus, isn’t halloween two whole months away, Drac?’. His cheeks are dusted over in ruby, whether it be from the heat, or that he was blushing in his sleep from something entirely different hardly matters. 

The only thing that matters is how there’s an incredibly attractive man in his house, who may or may not be in his bed at the moment, and he’s here looking like Night of the Living Dead with his atrocious hair and face. Out of the one and a gazillion chance that he isn't tearing out of the house to escape the nerves and anxiety that almost always comes with flexing his atrophied social muscle he has to be looking like Death himself.

Youngjae is not only inept at life in general, he’s also grossly unlucky as well. 

He decides to kill two birds with one stone; he prolongs showing his face and takes a shower as well. The hot water runs over his skin. His eyes close as he tucks his head under the shower and massages shampoo all the way down to the knotted roots, raking his fingers through the hair. After a quick shower and some basic grooming Youngjae feels human again. His complexion is atrocious, something that won’t change quickly, but his breath is minty and his hair is freshly washed.

Fridays are always a joy.

Youngjae’s dad got off work early and they would watch movies in the living room until either or both knocked out on the couch. Friday feels different now that his dad is gone and Jaebum, instead, is banging pots in the kitchen. He wouldn’t mind preparing his own meals; one of these days he really will try to make Jaebum something. Not for necessity purposes, of course, because Jaebum’s porridge had been amazing and Youngae is sure anything he makes will turn out great. But, half of him feels like he’s taking advantage of the man, and the other half is becoming uncomfortable with this increasing familiarity. Jaebum seems to be secure in his level of intimacy, but Youngjae is so unnerved by it that he can’t bring himself to go into the kitchen. 

Youngjae would have rather Jaebum think of him as a strange kid with strange tendencies. The fact that he’d caught a glimpse into a part of Youngjae that the teen himself can barely understand is terrifying. He feels naked, bare, and in front of a man that he should have nothing to do with beside living arrangements for a month or two and some tutoring. 

“Are you alright?”

Youngjae looks up from the smudge in the wood that his focus had violated so relentlessly a moment ago. Jaebum is standing in the kitchen’s threshold with a spatula stained with what looks like eggs. Youngjae’s eyes trace the prominent vein in the man’s arm up to his face, his concerned, brown eyes that evoke panic into Youngjae for unknown reason. Jaebum might be asking two questions, one which Youngjae will answer more readily than the other. But, when Jaebum’s free hand gestures clearly to the grip Youngjae has on his basketball shorts, one of the questions disintegrates in his mind and he forces a nervous laugh.

“Fine.” Youngjae nods without meeting the man’s eyes. 

“Are you hungry?” Jaebum asks.

Youngjae is prepared to say no and disappear to his room when his stomach growls like the traitor it always is. 

“I made eggs and toast,” Jaebum says, the soft skin around his mouth crinkling in pleasantry and eyes conveying the same hopeful sentiment. “You know, you’re welcome to…”

“Thanks,” Youngjae says in slight defeat and hopes his face isn’t as forlorn as his voice sounds. There really isn’t anything wrong with Jaebum cooking a meal. But, for some reason, it feels more intimate than what Youngjae is used to; Youngjae and his dad had been switching off house duties for the past 10 years. Jaebum’s welcome smile and kind eyes parallel so closely with his dad that Youngjae can’t help the nostalgia that clenches his heart. He loosens some of the tension in his shoulders and nods again, this time, with a small smile that Jaebum will hopefully appreciate. 

They eat in mostly silence. Jaebum will respond to Youngjae’s clank with one of his own and shift in his stool occasionally. The eggs are just eggs, but they taste so different from his dad’s that Youngjae has found one thing to look forward to; as long as Jaebum is here, he won’t starve. Even the toast is perfectly brown, void of the black edges that have become a characteristic of his dad’s toast.

(“Is it supposed to be dark like that?” Youngjae remembers asking once. It had been apart of one of the few vivid memories after his mom left when his dad was still trying to get the hang of domestic duties before Youngjae could begin helping out.

“That’s what makes it crispy,” his dad had replied with confidence.

Youngjae was sure that it just was burnt, but he kept his mouth shut.)

Jaebum can really cook. Youngjae thinks this is something that tumbles solely in his mind. He realizes that he had voiced this aloud when Jaebum starts talking. He’s mildly embarrassed, mostly curious. 

“Before my accident in junior high I had been captain of the soccer team. But I had to quit after and my aunt let me help out in her restaurant to keep me from my boredom. I lifted boxes, butchered meat, and other things she could’ve used me for.” Jaebum sits up, fondness slipping into his voice. “Then she started to teach me the finer things about running a restaurant. When I started real cooking I never wanted to stop. I get to breathe life into something that had been dormant before. I’m master of my own ingredients and the kitchen is like another realm for me. Food has no bias, Youngjae. Anyone with a passion and working nose can find what they were meant to be.”

Youngjae finds himself leaning forward, propping his elbow on the table and resting the side of his jaw in his curled palm.

“After the accident, I didn’t know what I wanted to do. Im’s had always been athletes. My father expected nothing less than that for me as well. I had always followed him because I knew nothing else. But, then I found cooking and I realized that life is an ocean of possibilities. My only regret at the time was finding that out so late.”

“I don’t know what I want to do,” Youngjae blurts mindlessly. Jaebum looks at him, only staring for a few seconds, then a grin appears.

“You’re an artist, Youngjae. Make art.”

 

Night falls again. 

The sky splits open in a hellish storm and Youngjae shivers by his window. His eyes are open and he’s conscious, but his mind is stuck in his nightmare; the feminine silhouette appeared in his backyard as it usually did. Youngjae ran to catch her and she disappeared again. 

His back is slick in a fine layer of cold sweat.

Jaebum materializes by his side. The daze that follows his terrors must block out his own screaming.

Nevertheless, all that matters is Youngjae clings to him desperately. The heed of the previous night dissolves. Jaebum doesn’t ask permission. He simply gathers Youngjae in his arms and the teen lies on his chest, revelling in the concrete warmth and scentless body that engulfs him wholly. 

When the haze passes Youngjae is hyper aware of the stoney muscle pressing gently into his cheek. Their legs are tangled and Youngjae is in Jaebum’s lap. His chest grows hot at the thought. Their positions are even more intimate than the night before. But, Youngjae can’t bring himself to pull away. He doesn’t want to. 

After some time of sitting in the darkness Jaebum’s breath hitches like he wants to say something. Youngjae feels the hiccup rattle his chest, stutter his pulse, and he waits patiently for the man to continue.

“I hope I’m not being rude. You don’t have to answer if you don’t want to.”

“I’m the one being rude,” Youngjae mumbles.

“Why are so attached to this window?”

Youngjae stirs at this. 

His throat tightens more and more the longer the question sits in the air. That is something he hasn’t even told Yugyeom. Mind you, it isn’t for a lack of his friend’s trying. There are things Yugyeom tries to wheedle out of him as they appear. This has never been one of them. Youngjae loves Yugyeom like a brother; the bond they’ve built over the years accounts for all of the trust they have in each other. Still, there are things Youngjae keeps to himself, not because he doesn’t trust Yugyeom, but because he’s afraid how they’ll sound after they spill out of his mouth. He’s afraid of the ridicule behind Yugyeom’s hooded eyes disguised by a smile and nod. 

Irrational, yes, but there. 

Though, there is something about the way Jaebum is stroking his arm that causes the teen’s lips to itch.

“My mother left when I was little.”

Youngjae pauses. 

Jaebum doesn’t stop him and, surprisingly, Youngjae doesn’t stop himself either. 

“I saw her sneak out one night and run across the backyard. It was storming that night.” Youngjae coughs the sob out of his voice. “Whenever it storms, I just-” 

The window seems like a portal. The sheet of rain pouring from the indigo sky muddles the reality before his eyes. He jumps when thunder cracks after brilliant lightning paralyzes his senses. 

Jaebum anchors his hand more securely on Youngjae’s side. 

“Do you want me to stay?”

Youngjae doesn’t hesitate. “Yes.”

 

White assaults Youngjae’s eyes when he opens them in the morning. His arms are cold and empty. The teen is deeply saddened to find a Jaebum-less bed, and even more perplexed at the advances he himself had initiated. The situation is a bizarre one when he stops to think about it. 

Sometime during the night snow had begun piling up again. The sodden ground is dusted with cotton when Youngjae peers hesitantly out of it.

He showers to chase the cold from his bones and throws on some sweats and a plain tee. Upon wandering into the kitchen he finds a brief note from Jaebum that reads: “tutoring today. don’t starve. i’ll be back in the afternoon”. 

 

He discovers warm kimchi stew in the oven and tucks into it deliciously while pitying the poor fool who has tutoring on a Saturday.

 

Yugyeom blows up his phone in the afternoon.

“Lend me something,” his panicked voice comes through the phone.

“What?”

“Lend me a painting,” Yugyeom elaborates. “I have less than an hour to scan my art project and email it to my teacher. Then I have to take it to school on Monday. Can you bring me one?”

“Why don’t you come get one?”

“I have other homework to turn in,“ Yugyeom whines. “Please, Jae. I’m gonna be screwed if I don’t finish everything.”

“Fine.” Youngjae begrudgingly agrees.

“Sweet. See you in a bit then.” The line goes dead.

Youngjae picks out a painting that he doesn’t mind losing. It’s old and nothing too extravagant. He spent a few hours working on it after he taught himself about shadowing. It’s a pastel watercolor of a girl in a cafe. Decent, he concludes, and somewhat believable considering Yugyeom’s actual skillset. 

Youngjae bundles up, switching his sweats for some jeans and lacing boots up midway to his knee. He trudges out of the house with his keys in one pocket, phone in the other and both of his gloved hands shoved deeply into his coat pockets, sheathed painting tucked in his armpit snugly. 

The street is comfortably deserted. But, that’s where his comforts end.

Youngjae squints against the splinters of unadulterated sunshine that pry beneath his hood and nearly chokes on the gelid air as it slides down his throat, restricting oxygen from squeezing through without the sharp stab of cold pairing along with it. The deeper he sinks into his coat the warmer he becomes, but that doesn’t dull the drear of his journey as he trudges on toward Yugyeom’s house; which, in reality, is only a ten-minute walk. Though, it feels much longer with winter air clogging his nostrils, freezing his extremities, and bringing literal tears to his eyes.  
He finally arrives at the red-brick house and takes one long stride over the couplet steps, knocking on the door. After a minute of shivering at the front door, it opens, and Youngjae falls inside gratefully. 

“Youngjae, buddy ole’ pal.” Yugyeom wheedles the painting and cover from Youngjae before he has a chance to take off his boots. He slides out the painting and smiles. 

“You’ve outdone yourself.” Yugyeom pats his back once. “When it is obvious that the goals cannot be reached, don't adjust the goals, adjust the action steps.”

“I’m your action step?”

“Correct, my friend,” Yugyeom nods. “Now let us take actions steps to Zombie Slayer III.”

 

By the time Youngjae is done whooping Yugyeom at ZSIII the sun has already set and the street is pitch black. Youngjae folds into himself as he walks home, basking in the orange streetlights that cast filmy shadows on the sidewalk until he plunges into darkness again. He rushes to the next streetlight, slowing his steps considerably to shiver in the dusty glimmer.

Wind whistles past Youngjae’s ears. Shadows duck in and out of his peripheral vision. The teen tries to convince himself that it’s night and dark and that nothing is coming after him. He tells himself that no one is lying in wait to drag him off to an alley and bottle his organs. He tells himself that he can make it to the next block without harm.

Youngjae makes it home after twenty minutes of paranoia piling in his mind and reducing his thoughts to a scattered mess of nerves, all buzzing and on edge. Light spills from underneath the closed bedroom door of his dad’s room. Youngjae doesn’t give it a second thought as he goes straight to his own room, closes the door and pulls up a chair to his easel. 

He immediately puts the shadows to paper. 

The anxiety doesn’t melt away, but he forces his brain to concentrate on something else until he can think straight. Youngjae finds a bitter solace in the dark lines that bleed onto the white paper, marring its temporary purity. He works in planes when the urge arises. The sidewalks converge at a point and the shadows are streaks of charcoal and grey. Later, almost as an afterthought, he blotches a trembling dot in the center of the collage and finishes by signing his name at the bottom. It’s really not worth enough for him to feel the need to mark it, but he does anyway, out of habit. 

 

Youngjae paints, does independent study, listens intently when Jaebum gives lessons, and sleeps as much as he can. His night terrors have subsided for the past month and he doesn’t look so hollow anymore. Jaebum’s meals help fill the gap between his thighs and the spaces in his ribs. His complex returns; he’s thin with chubby cheeks and a round, baby face. He doesn’t mind as much, even learns to like it a little when Jaebum compliments him once.

Jaebum isn’t really people. Not in the anxiety-inducing, nerve agitating sense.

 

When Youngjae’s dad calls him to tell him he’ll be away for at least another month or so, he surprises the old man by taking it pretty well. Sure, Youngjae can handle himself fine, won’t go into a fit if he isn’t looked after (he might, but not the kind you’re thinking, though). But, it’s no secret that Youngjae has an attachment, a bond with his dad that no amount of time will lessen. Youngjae can handle it, though. 

Jaebum helps. 

 

The black sky bends in a horrific way that casts a monstrous shadow on the flooding snow. Youngjae stares wide-eyed, the tip of his nose grazing the cold glass as he dissociates. His mind is filled with stark nothingness, body paralyzed with fear. He doesn’t realize he’s shivering until he stops.

“You don’t have to do this,” Youngjae says once he’s settled in between Jaebum’s legs, head nuzzled in the juncture between the man’s jaw and collarbone with a gaul that dissipates once the sun rises. “You can just sleep.”

“Would you be able to sleep when someone was screaming and crying?”

Youngjae winces. He didn’t know he was that bad. 

“I’ve told you, I’ve been here before,” Jaebum says with empathy in his voice. “It’s not fun. I don’t mind, really.” 

Youngjae feels relaxed as Jaebum strokes his arm, warm fingers kneading his cold, fear-stricken skin. He never forgets how inappropriate this is, he can’t. But, as the days go on he is able to care less and less. Jaebum has deep, brown eyes that spell comfort and home. He wraps his arms around Youngjae like the teen will try to get away. 

He won’t.

 

“You like him, don’t you?”

Youngjae’s wrist freezes just as he is about to mix the blue with white to make turquoise, or something close enough. Yugyeom poses him a grin somewhere between smug and elated at Youngjae’s reaction. The teen doesn’t mean to. He’s just so taken back by the question, and rightfully so. 

Yugyeom is suggesting that Youngjae has harbored a crush on a man he’s only known for a month. And as preposterous as that is in itself his friend has the nerve to to smirk about it. 

“I don’t,“ Youngjae scoffs once he’s recovered from his belated surprise. Sometimes he wishes his friend were as daft as his report cards probably made his parents assume. 

“You’re really interested in tutoring these days,” Yugyeom says.

“I like to learn.” Youngjae shrugs.

“...about anatomy?” Yugyeom wiggles his sleazy eyebrows.

“The door. Feel free to use it.”

“I’m only teasing you,” Yugyeom groans and reclines on Youngjae’s bed, feet swinging childishly in the air. “Come on, be honest with me and with yourself. You like him, don’t you?”

“No,” Youngjae says, firm. His head says that he can’t be that weak, that vulnerable for him to succumb to the first guy that holds him. Not to mention that he’s bisexual, so he hasn’t fully crossed out girls yet. He has yet to explore. But, seeing as his idea of travel is transporting his butt from his bed to the couch he isn’t sure what kind of exploring he’ll be doing or how far he might actually get. 

At least it’s a nice thought.

“Real knowledge is to know the extent of one’s ignorance.”

Youngjae looks up and stares at his friend. “What the hell does that mean?”

Yugyeom makes a grand show of closing his eyes and holding out both hands before he places one over his chest and points one finger at Youngjae, eyes opening abruptly with a playfully sinister squint. “It means you like him.”

“Bastard,” Youngjae curses, shaking his head and grumbling to himself afterward. “I knew you were gonna say that.”

Someone knocks on the door.

“Come in,” Youngjae says from his easel. The paper is just as blank now as it was ten minutes ago. He hopes sitting here for a little longer will cause something to sprout in his brain. 

“Hey.” Jaebum pops his head in.

“Hey, hyung.” Youngjae feigns business. He mixes some more colors in an attempt to seem busy. He doesn’t bother to wonder why he cares if Jaebum thinks he’s being productive. 

“I know it’s kind of late. But, finals is next week so a client of mine just called in for some extra help. I’m gonna head over right now and probably won’t be back for a while,” Jaebum says.

“Okay, cool.” Youngjae shrugs with a slight grin. 

“Later.” Jaebum turns to Yugyeom. “See ya’, gyeom.”

“Okay, hyung-nim,” Yugyeom salutes in a dorky fashion that Youngjae cringes at. Jaebum must find it amusing. He chuckles briefly and ducks out of the room. After a few minutes of Youngjae scratching dumb ideas into his pad, Yugyeom jumps up.

“Speaking of finals…” He pads over to the door. “I have stuff to do as well.”

“You’re going to study?” Youngjae asks in disbelief.

“I’m going to make arrangements,” Yugyeom corrects poshly.

Youngjae snorts. “So, you’re gonna cheat.”

“Make. Arrangements.” Yugyeom emphasises the words. “Listen, Jae. When it is obvious that the goals cannot be reached…-”

“You must cheat,” Youngjae cuts in with a snicker.

“Oh, hardy-har-har.” Youngjae rolls his eyes. “I’ll remember to tell Jaebum that. You know, Jaebum, your lover?”

Youngjae gets up so fast that his brushes and the tin they are in go flying off the ledge of his easel. Yugyeom’s mocking kissy-face morphs into an expression of elation at the reaction he’s managed to weasel out of his friend. Youngjae chases him down the stairs. Yugyeom is barely able to grab his coat and shove his feet into his boots before Youngjae slams the door behind him.

 

Youngjae hadn’t been asleep before. Now he’s really not asleep as his eyes open in his dark bedroom and he wiggles closer to the wall as discreetly as possible. A weird prickle disturbs the hairs on his neck. 

“Are you awake?” Jaebum whispers, which is incredibly loud in the otherwise silence. Whether the man really isn’t sure or if he’s inviting Youngjae to speak because he knows he is, the teen will never know. But, he is sure of the fact that Jaebum’s presence makes his heart thrum quick against his chest. He tries not to move even though his skin is crawling with something like anticipation. When Youngjae is still enough and actually focused on anything other than the embarrassing stutter of his breathing he hears the man sigh, long and heavy. Soft thumps sound before his door creaks, splashing dim light against his back and across his knees. 

The door shuts and Youngjae is plunged into confusion once more. Part of him actually regrets not having said anything, another part is perfectly comfortable where he is. Youngjae blocks both of them out and tries to sleep the best he can.

 

When Youngjae wakes the next morning he discovers a blueberry muffin wrapped in packaging sitting on the ledge of his easel. His stomach growls right on time and it reminds him that he didn’t eat dinner last night. Youngjae opens the package with a little smile and nibbles away at it as he paints. Something has crawled into his spirit and is giving him the strength to to keep going without cringing and punching a hole through it out of frustration. 

The features seem familiar. But, Youngjae can’t really place them.

Before the teen can stop himself he’s finished and the final product injects him with mortification. Shock crawls down his spine and makes him sit up straighter, cheeks flushed. Youngjae stuffs the last piece of muffin between his teeth and chews as he dashes to prop the canvas up and facing the wall. He stares, perplexed, for a couple minutes at the wood and reflects deeply. The realization that he has just drawn a portrait of Jaebum in stark detail sits with Youngjae while he gathers himself enough to climb into his nook and stare out at the glistening snow, still shaken up inside. 

If Yugyeom were to know about this he would tease Youngjae until one of them was in their grave. Which is why no matter what happens Yugyeom will never find out about this. As soon as the painting dries he’ll find somewhere to bury it, probably inside his closet, until he can come up with a better solution. He may even burn it. He hasn’t decided yet. 

Youngjae chooses not to think about it. Because if he were to think about, which he won’t, then he wouldn’t be able to ignore Yugyeom’s pining question. You like him, don’t you? Of course, he doesn’t like Jaebum. The man is nice enough and helpful enough and friendly enough. Sure, he has gracefully slim eyes, a sharp jaw, cute teeth, pink lips, and this couplet of beauty marks above one eyebrow. His hugs are like a cup of hot chocolate without the brown residue lining the mug afterward. But, none of that means that Youngjae likes him. He’s just very perceptive and keen about detail. 

Nothing wrong with that.

No matter how much Youngjae repeats this in his head, Yugyeom’s question persists. He can still hear the accusation mixed with aggravating certainty in the latter’s voice. 

Youngjae comes to a final ruling; he’ll lock himself in his room until he’s thirty and live off whatever he can scrounge in here. He can learn to hibernate to pass the time. Nothing is impossible when he has buckets of paint and half a phone battery. 

Youngjae abandons the plan almost immediately when his bladder starts hurting about half an hour later. He zooms downstairs to the bathroom to relieve himself and decides to loiter on the couch to further lift the disturbing occurrence from his mind.

 

He falls asleep at some point.

He can tell it’s night just by the sound of fire crackling and the absence of harsh sunlight on his closed eyelids. He’s drowsily satisfied that he had slept all the way to the evening. His sockless feet are freezing, but his torso and legs are toasty warm. Youngjae also feels the emptiness of his stomach and is craving something hot and delicious. 

“Pretty.”

Youngjae immediately tenses at Jaebum’s voice, detached and distant in Youngjae’s darkness. He keeps his eyes shut firmly. In the span of a second he is aware of the weight of the man’s warm hand on his waist through the blanket. He’s on his stomach so he could take a peek. Youngjae stays exactly how he is, though. Uncomfortable with the situation as a whole yet intensely curious at the same time. 

“So pretty.”

Youngjae buries his face in the couch gently as it gets hot against his will. He bites his lip to suppress any little noise when Jaebum draws his hand up from the teen’s waist to his shoulders and down again. The sweet, gentle drag of the man’s hands and intentional press of his fingers into random places along his spine wreaks havoc on the teen’s mind. Questions zip through at the speed of light. Yugyeom’s weaselly little voice goes, you like him, don’t you? And Youngjae is on the verge of saying, yeah, kinda because he’s warm and happy and Jaebum smells like home. 

“I wish I were able to tell you.”

Youngjae can’t decipher the words as he’s more than halfway passed out. 

 

The hours of sleep fuel Youngjae’s premature awakening in the wee hours of the morning. His stomach is in pain and he feels weak all over. He scoots his way down the steps with his eyes half closed and pads quietly into the kitchen. What he isn’t expecting is to collide with a solid chest. Surprisingly, he doesn’t flinch when strong arms wrap around his shoulders.

“You must be starving,” Jaebum whispers. Youngjae doesn’t know what this. He has no idea why Jaebum is hugging him like they’re a real couple. He’s more confused as to why he’s letting himself be in this position. Jaebum is soft and solid simultaneously. His possibly sleep deprived rasp is the best thing Youngjae's ever heard in his entire life.

You like him, don’t you?

“I think my insides are going to start feeding on itself if I don’t eat anything,” Youngjae grumbles, nose comfortably suffocated in the man’s chest.

“Want an omelette?”

Youngjae nods.

The teen doesn’t want to think about why he feels empty when Jaebum pulls away to turn on the light. He goes over to sit at the table while Jaebum cracks eggs in a bowl and whisks them. The man joins him at the table when the mixture is sizzling in a pan. 

“What did you want to tell me?” Youngjae asks.

Jaebum stares at him with a question on his face.

“Earlier,” Youngjae stutters, face growing hot and embarrassment crawling up his spine, “earlier, I was awake for a little when I heard you say that you wish you were able to tell me something. What is it?”

Jaebum blinks for a couple seconds, then grins easily with no shame at all. “My friends and I are going to a pension for the weekend.”

Youngjae wilts at the news. Jaebum’s leaving for the weekend.

“I was going to ask if you wanted to come with. But, I didn’t want you to be uncomfortable.”

Youngjae being ‘uncomfortable’ is an understatement. Youngjae bristles at the thought. Jaebum probably doesn’t know the extent of Youngjae's social anxiety. He possibly figures the teen has trouble with sociability. In actuality, the mention of Youngjae being shoved into an unfamiliar place with unfamiliar people sets his throat on fire. He can’t bare the notion of it. Youngjae is still baffled at why he’s so comfortable with Jaebum and why the man just knows what the younger is feeling and how to deal with it. But, he’s not ready to face the big, bad world and all of its horrors yet. 

“I’m not very social. I’d actually rather stay home,” Youngjae says, eyes downcast.

“That’s alright.” Jaebum goes to check on the omelettes. 

“Ready,” he says from the stove. He plates them up and sets one in front of Youngjae. They smell delicious. Jaebum plates them and Youngjae accepts his with a little phrase of gratitude. He steals glimpses of Jaebum while they eat. The man has a neutral peace about him. He’s content with even the smallest things. His eyes are cool and warm at the same time, juxtaposing themselves in a way that ignites a small inferno in Youngjae’s heart when he turns to smile at the teen. In a few days, Jaebum will be off with his friends and Youngjae will be alone in those tiny house with nothing to keep him company but the draft and the rain and his nightmares and the rain and his own, self-inflicted injuries. 

“Can Yugyeom come as well?”

“Sure,” Jaebum says. “It’s on the weekend and all.” 

A curtain falls over the man’s eyes that Youngjae can’t decipher the meaning of. Of course it’s all disguised behind a coy smile and nonchalant shrug, but the teen can pick at such masks even at a distance. He doesn’t comment on it because maybe that’s crossing a line. They’ve already broken barriers that they shouldn’t have as tutor and tutee...friend and friend...whatever they are. Maybe pointing out each other's facades will be crossing a line that has no hope of being redrawn. Youngjae accepts the permission and eats silently. 

 

Morning comes.

The electricity of the night prior is still crackling, loud and obnoxiously present. Youngjae hopes to drown himself in a glass of orange juice, but with Jaebum dominating the kitchen as he usually does Youngjae can’t bring himself to actually go in. He slinks back up the stairs to his bedroom and collapses on the bed. 

His heart is thumping like crazy. He prays for it to slow down, or maybe just stop altogether. The portrait that he has thus neglected to stow away stares at him. Jaebum’s gentle eyes that Youngjae had recreated so vividly glare at him from their glossy mount above a nose scrunched in disapproval and pink lips pressed thin. Realistically, his expression can only be described as neutral, but with the way the teen is feeling, the features could rearrange themselves any which way. 

All of the things Youngjae has forced himself not to think about bulldoze his scattered mind all at once. He thinks about why he’s worried if Jaebum finds him productive, about how it’s inappropriate, and yet, Youngjae crawls into Jaebum as if the man is the sun god who protects him from clouds. He considers why the thought of being left alone injects him with a crippling fear. He doesn’t want to sleep the day away. 

He wants to spend it with Jaebum. 

 

Youngjae surprises himself by packing on Friday. He stuffs some clothes in a backpack along with toiletries and a few knickknacks. The mess of his room is a little less messier as he cleaned about an hour ago while pulling out old chip bags in search of socks. 

The teen only has one arm through his green polo when the door opens. Youngjae falls backward in a haste to get the rest of it on and lands butt-first on the carpet. Pain shoots through his bottom and he blinks away the moisture collecting in his eyes. 

Jaebum rushes to him. He’s a flash of dark color due to his sweater and musky-sweet cologne that attacks Youngjae’s senses.

“Are you alright?” Jaebum slides one hand under Youngjae’s neck as a cushion and touches his face softly with the other. The man’s lips split into a smile, eyes pleasantly slim. Youngjae battles himself to conjure words that won’t make him seem like an idiot. He sucks at it. 

“We better get going,” Jaebum says.

“Aren’t you guys going to hurry-” Yugyeom barges in with a highlighter yellow backpack slung over one arm with all sorts of trinkets dangling from the loops. Like a charm that reads ‘The awakened one knows’. “Oh, should I come back another time?” He smirks once his eyes have finished the lighting quick scan of the situation. 

Youngjae can’t scramble to his feet fast enough. His face is flushed and irritated. 

“I just fell,” Youngjae stutters, hands flying in explanation and eyes neither here nor there, “and hyung he was...h-helping…-”

“Come on or we’re gonna be stuck in the thick of traffic.” Jaebum throws one arm around Youngjae and drags the teen along with him. Youngjae scowls in frustration when his face passes right by Yugyeom’s with his dumb wink and stupid hat. Hasn’t he burned that piece of junk yet?

Youngjae locks the house once everyone is out and crunches through the snow to the silver volvo waiting like a bad omen in the driveway. The day is relentlessly cold. Youngjae shudders terribly once he crawls in the backseat next to Yugyeom. Both his friend and Jaebum give him strange looks accentuated by dark eyebrows tilting up. 

“Wouldn’t you rather sit in the front?” Yugyeom nudges him with one skinny, solid elbow. Youngjae hisses at the jab, shaking his head.

“I’m fine.” He sinks into the plush interior. The teen expertly avoids eye contact with Jaebum who gives up within a few seconds and the engine roars to life afterward. Youngjae spends the first hour of the ride bickering with Yugyeom and gazing out of the window as the landscape morphs from brisk city to snow sodden countryside. 

Youngjae cracks an eye open after a little nap, tongue heavy as cotton and body limp. He locks blearily onto a familiar face with his one eye and quickly opens the other. His cheek is smashed into the seat belt, but he’s too tired to care about how his neck with probably feel like wood or how long the indention of the belt will last after they arrive at their destination. He just knows that the car is not in motion, Yugyeom is missing, the sky is darker, oh, and Jaebum is staring at him in a way that makes the teen uncomfortable. He’s just too tired to say anything about it.

“We’ve got a few more hours to go,” Jaebum informs quickly with a demure grin. “You sleep like a baby.”

“I don’t sleep well at night,” Youngjae replies briefly, and then adds for some odd reason, “You should know.” The teen curses himself mentally the second after it leaves his lips He doesn’t know why he feels obligated to force a connection that’s already there, to say such crass stuff. 

Or maybe he does. 

Jaebum blinks once, a shy yet confident smile spreading across his face in the most satisfying of ways. 

“I guess I do.”

“Who wants msg?” Yugyeom gets back in with armfuls of little black bags. His bright smile is excited and full of anticipation. Youngjae wishes he were able to indulge in his best friend’s obvious excitement, but the more Youngjae ponders on what they are about to do the more his stomach contracts in displeasure. He shakes his at his friend and closes his eyes again to allow the motion that starts soon after to lull him into another nap. Sleeping is the only thing at this point that will calm him. 

 

“Baby bear,” a soft voice blows hot air into his ear. Youngjae frowns lightly when he realizes what’s going on.

“I’ll kill you,” Youngjae hisses.

“I’m a pacifist,” Yugyeom protests with a gasp tucked somewhere in his voice, scandalized. 

Youngjae opens his eyes and they find Yugyeom in the dark car. “No, you’re an idiot. Where are we?”

“At the pension, sleeping beauty.”

“Already?” Youngjae asks. It feels like they just left.

“What do you mean already?” Youngjae can’t see Yugyeom’s face very well, but he’s probably rolling his eyes if the scoff clearly present in his voice is anything to go by. The little shit. “You slept the whole way here. Get up.”

Youngjae does as told. When he’s upright and shivering in the brutal cold he can see better. The snow is gone and a ruthless wind blows through every loose article of clothing to compensate. They have the volvo pulled into a road that winds up the side of a row of identical buildings with what looks like the main entrance at the far end that Youngjae has to squint to see. Streetlights are erected along the pathway that leads to the main entrance and they cast shadows on the faces of some buildings. 

A string of other cars are parked before the volvo. A set of headlights is still on when Youngjae is retrieving his backpack from the trunk and they switch off when Jaebum locks the car doors. Like a domino effect, one car door opens, then another and another until there are four young men standing beside the car stretching and such.

Youngjae does his best not to start blinking excessively or do anything that would make him look like an idiot. He sucks at it. The teen hangs back with his best friend while Jaebum does a round of greetings. 

The one Jaebum approaches first is a little on the short side. He’s slender with bleached fringe and a long, handsome face. His dark jeans and suave peacoat, not to mention the set of keys that are probably his he’s twirling around one finger, suggest that he has a little money. 

Next is one a little taller than the last, though not by much. He’s thicker and stockier than the last as well, like Jaebum. He has brown, fluffy fringe that comes to the slightest point just below his dark eyebrows and his wide smile looks like an infectious one.

The tallest of the three, although the youngest looking one, has raven hair styled in a voluminous upward coif. He’s the skinniest, not even his puffy coat can hide his impossibly thin legs and his jaw is sharp like a bucket of knives. There’s a mischievous glint to his dark eyes and a playful wink buried in them. 

The last is shorter than the one before him and taller than the first two. He’s thin as well, but with a little puffiness to his cheeks that the other three don’t have. His black hair is hidden beneath a skull cap, only the sides are visible. His pink, plush lips are inviting and his dark eyes are rounded with a complimentary pinch at the ends that prevent them from seeming freakishly large. 

Leave it to Jaebum to have gorgeous friends as well. Birds of a feather truly do flock together. This fact doesn’t help to quell the bubbling anxiety. Youngjae tries to make himself as small as possible beside Yugyeom. 

“Namaste, brethren.” Yugyeom lines his fingertips and gives a shallow bow. The troupe of men stare with expressions of homogeneous confusion.

“For the love of all that’s good and right with the world, close your damn mouth,” Youngjae hisses beside him. 

“Are you Youngjae?” Fluffy Cheeks asks with an apprehensive wave of his hand. 

Yugyeom shakes his head curtly with a tight grin. “That’s an insult to the both of us.”

“Shut the hell up.” Youngjae instinctively pinches the crap out of Yugyeom’s neck. 

“Damn you.” Yugyeom scowls, rubbing the reddening skin.

“He’s Youngjae.” Jaebum steps in before the two can embarrass themselves further. He pats Youngjae’s shoulder, and then gestures to Yugyeom. “This is his friend, Yugyeom.”

“This is Jinyoung, Mark, Kuhn and Jackson.” Jaebum motions to each one respectively. Fluffy cheek is Jinyoung, Bleached Fringe is Mark, Baby Face is Kuhn, and Infectious Smile is Jackson. 

“Hi,” Youngjae says. His palms are already damp. What if they hate him?

“Can we see your art?” Kuhn asks with excitement in his voice. Youngjae is so taken aback that he forgets to stutter.

“My art?”

“Yeah,” Mark cuts in. “Jaebum told us that you make sick art. Are you more of a sketch artist or do you like to paint?”

Youngjae smiles. “A little bit of both. But, I do find myself painting more nowadays. Watercolor is my favorite. I dabble in acrylic as well. It hasn’t really stuck with me yet, though. Too thick.”

“Sweet.” Mark grins. “I’m a watercolor person myself as well.”

“Can we go inside now?” Kuhn shivers. “It’s kinda cold.”

They sludge through the snow. Youngjae nearly falls flat on his butt a couple of times. He would’ve knocked out some teeth hadn’t it been for Jaebum’s quick reflexes. The main building is warm and brightly lit. A round desk centralizes the entire space as people mill about. Some are families, others look like couples, and workers enter and exit a room marked ‘staff only’ at the foot of a staircase winding behind a wall that must lead somewhere. Potted plants and brown settes complete the interior. 

Youngjae presses himself in the corner of a seat and taps mindlessly on his phone. A message pops up in his inbox.

Hope you’re having fun.  
-Dad

He should be having more fun than he is. Jaebum’s friends are nice enough. He hasn’t been met with any side eyes yet. Although, this can’t make up for the dread bubbling in his gut like a volcano ready to blow if anyone says the wrong thing. Times like these make him wish he weren’t as opposed to his meds as he actually is. He’d popped one early in the morning as a safety precaution and that’s why he’s been hibernating for hours. His only regret now as he’s sitting in the lobby of this place with people battering his senses down from every angle, disgustingly sober and aware, is that he hadn’t packed any to take while he was here. 

Youngjae can be one very stubborn asshole. 

“Okay.” Mark stands at the head of the group. Youngjae cranes his neck a little so he can see what’s going on over the chatter of the men themselves and everything else going on.

“There are seven of us and only three rooms. Who’s rooming with who?”

“Youngjae and I,” Yugyeom pipes up from Youngjae’s side. Youngjae can’t help but smile at that. 

“You two.” Mark tosses a key in their direction and Youngjae catches it.

“Why not have the three youngest in a room?” Mark suggests.

“Can’t I sleep with you?” Kuhn nudges Jackson.

“We need at least one threesome,” Mark says.

Jackson opens his mouth, but to his obvious dismay, Mark raises one hand.

“I will knot your testicles, Wang. Grow up.” He’s smiling though.

“Yugyeom, Youngjae and I,” Jaebum says.

Youngjae loves that idea to pieces and he is slowly warming up to the idea that he’s okay with that. Yugyeom nudges him while the rest are preoccupied with divvying up the other two rooms to smirk. 

“I swear if you open your godforsaken mouth,” Youngjae whispers, glaring.

“Admit it,” Yugyeom whispers back. “You like Jaeb-AHHH!”

The men turn to stare. 

“Why are you always pinching me?”

Youngjae waves his hand, voice quivering at the attention. “We’re fine.”

“I hate you.” Yugyeom nudges him firmly in his ribs. Youngjae hisses. 

“Aren’t you friends?” Jaebum laughs, eyebrows high and amused.

Yugyeom and Youngjae look at each other. Yugyeom is a dork that makes Youngjae want to throw him off a bridge into the Atlantic Ocean, but he’s the closest person Youngjae has besides his dad and he really can’t complain.

“Best friends.” Yugyeom nudges him again, this time, less roughly. Youngjae nudges him back with knitted brows and a smile that won’t come off no matter how hard he tries. 

“I guess.”

Things get settled quickly enough and the men circle to talk excitedly about what they want to do tomorrow. Yugyeom squeezes his tall self in an open space and looks back at Youngjae, offering. The latter shakes his head, so Yugyeom nods and turns back around. Youngjae hovers on the outside and listens in. He’s comfortable from here. 

Kuhn talks with the speed and urgency of a motorboat. His lips move so fast that they hardly seem to be, and yet sound is coming out of them. He wants to be up in time to see the sunset and then get breakfast when they began serving it at six-thirty. It’s all very realistic in general but not so much for a huge group of teenage boys/young men. They’ll be lucky if they even rise in time for breakfast. Youngjae would offer to go with Kuhn since he is likely to be awake at the time as well. He just doesn’t have the confidence that they won’t take a seat and the glue won’t spread throughout his gums, preventing him from speaking. The thought of people is nice, sometimes, but the reality of them is they contrast Youngjae in every way possible. 

He ends up not saying anything afterall.

The walk to their room is short. It’s on the third floor and in close quarters with the rest. There are two beds made up with white sheets and pillows, a glass door leading to the balcony, and another door just off the main one that is hanging open to reveal a clean, unlit bathroom. 

“Called it.” Yugyeom runs and pounces on the bed closest to the balcony. Youngjae smiles as he heads over to sit at the foot of the bed while Yugyeom rolls over the breadth of it like a small child. 

As amusing as Yugyeom’s antics are Youngjae’s eyes are drawn to Jaebum. The man is unzipping his blue duffle bag while standing over the other bed and is arranging his things. He’s wearing a black sweater, a wool one, by the look of it, and dark jeans to match. His shoulders are broad enough to set up a swing set. The dip in his collar bone is visible just above his shirt collar and the little peek suggests something deep enough to swim in. The only part of him that Youngjae knows to be not up to par with the rest of him is his bad leg. 

It bothers him still that Jaebum is unwilling to talk about his leg even when he’s told him about most other things. A simple trick of the eye has grown into way more; there isn’t a doubt in Youngjae’s mind that Jaebum injured his right leg in his accident and isn’t planning on telling Youngjae anything about it. It’s really none of Youngjae’s business and Jaebum is more than justified in his right of keeping silent. But, the thing is, Youngjae is itching to hear from the man himself about what he clearly isn’t telling him already. The teen has gotten over his inner turmoil by this point. He knows why he wants so badly to know so much about the man.

You like him, don’t you?

Yeah, he really, really does.

Saliva is crusted on the side of his face when Youngjae slips out of a dreamless slumber. The worst part is that it isn’t even his. Youngjae takes a moment to shudder at the revelation. Then he pries Yugyeom’s arm from his torso and slips out of bed. Sunlight spills in long stripes through the glass door, so Youngjae should have no trouble seeing. Except, his eyes are barely open and he stumbles to the bathroom anyway. He pays no mind to the cracked door and artificial, orange glare leaking from underneath it. He pushes the door open the rest of the way and rubs his eyes in the doorway, blinking to loosen the sleep from them and stretching so high that his shirt rides up high on his stomach. 

Youngjae’s hem drops to its proper place when his arms do and he is alert. He sees what probably shouldn’t be seeing. Jaebum’s warm, brown eyes blink at him. Youngjae’s slow smile freezes off his face when his gaze drops to the blunt cap of rigged skin just above where his right ankle should be. The man’s signature dark jeans are rolled up to his thigh and he’s sitting on the edge of the porcelain basin. His grip on a prosthetic foot is desperate, aware and fearful in the way that breaks Youngjae’s heart into a million pieces. 

For the first time since Youngjae has been acquainted with the man, Jaebum blushes. It begins as a faint red that curtains over the man’s cheeks and neck and then grows into a deep ruby that displays his embarrassment clear as day. Youngjae nearly blushes himself for a reason that he can barely grasp. This piece of Jaebum that Youngjae wanted so badly to know is spilled in front of his eyes. Jaebum is fully-clothed, but for some reason it feels to Youngjae like he’s naked instead. This is private, something he has no permission to see. And yet…

This moment brands itself into Youngjae’s mind. The blush over Jaebum, the smooth skin surrounding his amputation interrupted by the slight ridges, eyes uncertain and lost. Who knows? He may even paint about it. It won’t be the first time. 

“You slept the entire night,” Jaebum finally says. 

“It’s been a while,” Youngjae replies simply, heart thumping like crazy in agonizing contrast.

They spend a minute just staring. Youngjae tries his best not to overreact because it may scare Jaebum away. The teen wants to tell Jaebum that it’s okay and he’ll accept him in whatever way he comes, so there’s no need to look so abashed by the situation. Youngjae feels that much more affirmed in his earlier perception of Jaebum being...different. Just different than what Youngjae has ever seen. He’s warm and cozy, not strange at all even if that’s what most might consider a man introduced into their life for a scarce two months. Maybe Youngjae is thinking faster than reality is likely to move. Maybe Jaebum just thinks of him as a little brother, or worse, just a client. 

A sharp click resonates in the bathroom. Youngjae is back to the present again. Jaebum overtakes Youngjae again when he stands. Nothing remains of the moment they’ve just shared because the man is back to being broad and whole. Youngjae can’t explain why he’s sad at that. 

“Kuhn wanted breakfast.” Jaebum slips past Youngjae in the doorway. “Why don’t we go since we’re up? We can bring Yugyeom back something.”

Youngjae nods wordlessly. He turns to assess his friend’s current condition.

“I swear he’s dead.” He snorts incredulously. Yugyeom is nearly hanging off the bed and his mouth is unhinged, real attractive. “Wait, lemme take a picture.”

“Don’t be late.” Jaebum leaves before Youngjae can say anything. He sighs openly once the door closes and shrugs, shaking his head. He can figure out whatever he needs to later. Right now, he’s going to refresh his blackmailing file. 

Youngjae startles when Yugyeom murmurs in his sleep. But, he just turns the other way and the former relaxes with a devious smile. Friendship really is a fickle thing. He’s sure Yugyeom will understand. 

Youngjae dresses fast so he can’t think about how much he doesn’t want to go down for breakfast and would much rather gorge on ramen and comics with Yugyeom for the day. He’s spurred on by Jaebum’s handsome face, though.

Jackson is at the table as well. This only further discourages Youngjae from sitting down. He strongly considers turning on his heels and b-lining for the elevator when Kuhn spots him, waving and smiling wide. Shit, shit, shit.

“Youngjae, come sit with us!” Kuhn bounces at the sight of him. Youngjae all but blanches when Jackson turns his eyes on him along with Jaebum. He slinks over to the square table and sits on the side with Jaebum, facing Jackson and Kuhn. 

“Morning,” Youngjae says. His eyes burn big, black holes into the corner of the table. They must take it as fatigue and don’t comment on Youngjae’s tone. He’s very grateful. 

Soon, the table is full, minus Yugyeom. Youngjae had misjudged all of them. It’s just past seven-am and here they all are. It figures since the young men are probably in college and Kuhn probably attends high school himself. Of course they are up. Youngjae was playing a stringless violin last night. 

“What are we doing today?” 

“They have an arcade,” Jinyoung says whilst jabbing his fork into a cup of grapes.

“That’s for children,” Kuhn protests, eyes big and mouth pouting. 

“You are a children.” Jinyoung smiles. Kuhn doesn’t.

“This was supposed to be fun!”

“It will be,” Mark says. “Especially when I slay all of you in PacMan.”

“You’re still not over that?” Jackson sounds fairly surprised.

“Your ass cheated and you know damn well I’m gonna get you back for it.”

“You’re a toddler, Tuan. How long has it been?” Jackson scoffs with an eyeroll.

“Two long, hard years dealing your bull just to arrive at this moment.”

“Okay, fine. We can finish eating, rest a little and then go to the arcade. I mean, there’s an entire day ahead of us. How long will it take to whip Mark’s ass in PacMan?”

 

* * *  
It takes a very long time. They’re still not done. The arcade is in a separate building from the main one, next to a shack that sell snacks during the day. The best thing about it is that they have Galaga, Asteroids and Street Fighter. Youngjae zones out Mark and Jackson’s alien shrieks and determined grunts as he flits between the three games. He strays further sometimes to shoot some basketball, but he always circles back to one of the three. Youngjae relaxes on the stool as zaps and clicks fill the dim space. He hardly even flinches when Jinyoung leans on the dormant game next to his and pats his back.

“So, you’re Youngjae?” Jinyoung says.

Youngjae is positive that they’ve already established this. He looks at him for a moment. His lips quirk up slightly and he nods, turning back to his game. 

He’s already a bit sick.

“You are cute.”

Youngjae hiccups. “Uhm,...-”

“What do you think of Jaebum?” Jinyoung’s eyes are clear and steady in focus, casually interested. He makes that really good eye contact that would cause anyone else to swoon at how intently he seemed to be listening. It just makes Youngjae want to crawl under a rock and die.

“He’s nice.” Youngjae nods to one one in particular. His fingers swipe over the controls and he tries not to mess up due to Jinyoung’s surprise intrusion.  
“He likes you.”

“What?” Youngjae messes up anyway.

“Jaebum is a really good guy, and he’s been through so much in the past few years.” Jinyoung waits for Youngjae to look at him before continuing. “He really likes you. He’s always talking about how talented you are and how sweet you are. Jaebum is a pretty straight forward guy. I’ve yet to see him so flustered and at a loss for words.”

Youngjae thinks back to this morning. Jaebum’s blushing face and his unsure gaze. He might’ve looked like that. 

“He also says you’re really smart and intuitive,” Jinyoung continues. Youngjae tries to calm down because he can feel his neck heating up. 

“He really said that?” Youngjae asks.

Jinyoung nods. “He gushes about you so much it’s hard to believe all this is coming as a surprise, Youngjae.”

His skin prickles with excitement at the thought. 

“If you like him…”

Sure he does.

“...then go for it.”

What else is there to say?

 

Youngjae decides to go for it. The worst that could happen is Jaebum rejects him (like that won’t break the teen into a gazillion pieces). He’s spent life expecting disappointment from people, so when it doesn’t happen he gets a little something extra. He’ll wait until Yugyeom is asleep, or maybe he’ll ignore his loud-mouth friend altogether and confess to Jaebum whenever he pleases. 

 

Maybe he would’ve had it not started storming like hell threw open its gates and allowed desolation to rain from the sky in fat drops, sinking heavily into the sea like stones and rippling the clear, blue surface. Disturbingly enough, Youngjae is alert and he knows where he is, what his name is and all. Which makes everything that much worse. His mother is forever a shadow that watlzes across the sand and drowns in the angry tide. He’s not sure why he can’t ever let her go. She has no meaning to his life. He barely recalls her should-length black hair and transluscent skin. Her cold hands that tucked him in before bed and then dissappeared by morning. He doesn’t care.

Why can’t he let her go?

Her voice hisses to Yougnjae in the dark. The teen kicks the covers back and gets out of bed. He needs to know why she left him, why anyone was more important than her own son, why she hated Youngjae enough to leave without a note or a trace to where she was going. 

“Ouch.”

Youngjae’s head clears and he looks down, squinting.

“Jaebum?”

“That hurt.” The man rolls onto his back. He pauses, then he’s sitting up and grabbing Youngjae's hand. “What’s wrong?”

He breaks. Jaebum is warm and cozy. He’s always been. His attention is undivided. Youngjae’s skin melts into globs at the very edge of his bones and he sways, heavy. Tears pool down his cheeks because he can’t hold them back. He drops into Jaebum’s lap.

Everything is wrong. He can’t talk to people without worrying if they hate him even if they’ve just met him. The outside world is physically draining to him and he loathes having to spend more than an hour in any given place that isn’t his home, or his bed. He’s let Jaebum puzzle him to the extent of crawling from his lair and pretending to be normal long enough to hate himself for it. Everywhere he turns someone is trying to talk to him and he doesn’t know what to say, or what the proper reaction is. Whether he can set his tongue on fire like with Yugyeom or if that’s too rude. Whether he should be prudish and polite or if that’s too boring. He can’t just be himself. He doesn’t know who that is, really. 

And speaking of not knowing, how can everything be wrong when he doesn’t know what right is? Has he ever actually experienced that? Is it something he has to search up? 

As if he can sense Youngjae's inner turmoil, Jaebum wraps his arms around him and adjusts the teen to his liking. The younger ends up between the man’s legs, his own arching on both sides of Jaebum’s torso and his eyes are caught by Jaebum’s. Brown and warm, and brown and safe, and brown and everything will be okay. He can’t blink when all of Jaebum is pouring into his body at once. It’s hard to breathe.

“I’m not going to leave you.” Jaebum tugs Youngjae closer by the waist. Their noses bump.

Weight lifts off the teen’s shoulder at the words, though he’s still uncomfortably snug in his own skin, chest still tightly stretched.

“Please don’t,” Youngjae whispers, desperate and terrified. 

Lips press lightly onto his. they are every bit as smooth and wonderful as Youngjae had imagined. His heart is thumping and his hands slide carefully on Jaebum’s neck, while the man allows his own to grip Youngjae’s waist. Tongues squish together in a way that makes Youngjae crinkle his nose. It’s weird, but he can get used to it, he supposes. Jaebum’s nose cards his and he tips his head to the side more. Their newly acquired angle proves to be more rewarding. Youngjae knocks his groin into Jaebum’s by accident, the he does it again on purpose.

When he needs to come up for air, Youngjae pats Jaebum’s shoulder and the man releases him immediately. They pant together in the semi-lit room as rain pelts the window. 

“I like you, hyung,” Youngjae nearly cries. 

“I like you, too.”

Just like that, the information hangs in the air. Youngjae has no idea what to do with it. His brain is a tangle of nerves and red flags that tell him to go back to where he’s came, to take back the words swinging in front of his eyes like an omen for something. He can’t say that he wishes he never said them; the confession is like a warm cup of milk after a night of shivering in the dark, alone. He’s grateful to himself for sparing more nights of frenzied thoughts in place of sleep which he can never get enough of.

Jaebum baffles him to no end. This man, who is both whole and not, fills Youngjae with bright confusion and suffocating warmth.

“Do you really?” His voice sounds small even to him.

“Yes, I really do. Do you?” He wraps Youngjae tighter and ducks his chin on the younger’s shoulder, nuzzling his nose into Youngjae’s neck.

“I do.”

He breaks again. It doesn’t feel so bad. 

 

The dripping that had begun about an hour after the freakish rain stopped has been replaced by stark silence. Youngjae rolls over on his back and stretches, fingers brushing over someone’s soft face. His insides swirl in this magically sick way.

“Morning.” Jaebum pecks his cheek sweetly. Youngjae nearly swoons. Nearly. 

“Good morning.” Youngjae blushes when the man whispers how beautiful he is in the morning right in the younger’s ear. His mind is stuck in the man’s reliable grasp, at his will to twist out of shape. Youngjae is deathly afraid of how much trust he’s put in Jaebum to not screw him over. He hopes he won’t regret it. 

“Good morning,” a voice sing-songs obnoxiously. Youngjae groans inwardly and outwardly. He really doesn’t need to hear it. “Oh, I knew it, babe.”

Not right now. Not so early in the morning.

 

Yugyeom only nags ‘i told you so’ for half an hour, all through breakfast. 

“Whose balls dropped first?” Yugyeom nudges Youngjae with his shoulder. “I put twenty dollars on Jaebum.”

“You barely have ten in your bank account.”

“It’s all metaphorical, Youngjae. Confucius once said-”

“Why did that guy talk so much? Didn’t he have anything better to do?”

“He was a genius. A revolutionary. Far beyond his time. Mad quote-worthy.”

“It was actually me,” Youngjae confesses. 

“Bullshit.” Yugyeom barks out a laugh. “No way.”

“You know what?” Youngjae scoffs, spearing a sausage on a plastic fork and practically shoving it in Yugyeom’s open mouth, to which the latter coughs and glares, chewing reluctantly. “Suck on that. I’m going to get more.”

Youngjae crosses the carpeted area of the dining room filled with tables and chairs, overlooking views of nothing but snow and grass and parking space. He walks over to the tiled area where the food is set out, buffet style, and debates over whether he wants the tough, dense pancakes or the watery kimchi stew. Honestly, if it were up to Youngjae, he’d order anything made by Im Jaebum. If it isn’t an industrial-sized pot of porridge or scrambled eggs, he doesn’t want to eat it. But to appease himself he picks up a pancake with some chopsticks, puts it on his plate and sprinkles it with powdered sugar. It couldn't look farther from appetizing.

“Nutritious.”

Jaebum appears next to him. He wasn’t there a second ago, and it’s surreal how quickly his pulse speeds up, palms sweaty at the rapid change in air pressure. His mind replays the scene from last night, or this morning, over and over again in his head, like a cracked CD that keeps hiccuping over the same thirty seconds. 

Jaebum looks suave in a forest green, fleece sweater and dark jeans. His hair is untampered on his smooth forehead, messy yet with a place for every rogue strand. His eyes are just as warm and brown as usual.

Youngjae’s head spins. 

“You should eat more and better.” Jaebum chuckles, scooping some soup into his bowl, eyes on the line of food momentarily before finding Youngjae’s, winking flirtaciously. Youngjae averts his eyes with haste, venturing to bump his elbow with Jaebum’s. The shock lifts some when a hearty giggle rings beside him, and he can’t help doing so himself. 

“You’re awful.” Youngjae chides lightly with a small smile. “That’s so greasy.”

“What?” Jaebum bends a little, forcing his face in Youngjae’s view, knocking the oxygen straight out of the teen’s lungs and leaving him winded in the worst, best way possible. “You don’t like it? But, I do.” Jaebum winks consecutively, angling his head around and winking some more. 

“Hyung, stop!” Youngjae laughs, pushing his chest away. Jaebum takes the opportunity to wrap his fingers around Youngjae's wrist and keep it on his chest. Youngjae stills a little, laughter still rumbling in his throat but silenced by the fresh fire brewing in Jaebum’s eyes. The man’s smile is bright and passionate, endlessly accepting. If there were ever a time to be self-conscious Youngjae figures it is now. His expressions are two-dimensional; he can’t manage the layer upon layer depth that Jaebum achieves, probably without even trying. 

“Have I told you that you’re beautiful?” Jaebum smiles boyishly, words almost breathless in a way that boggles Youngjae’s senses. Jaebum can’t be as affected by this as Youngjae is. It’s impossible. 

“I think, probably.” Youngjae smiles back. 

“Good.” Jaebum nods. “I think I’ll say it everyday then, because it’s true.” 

“Shut up, shut up. Stop.” Youngjae groans, breaking eye contact to squint at the unappetizing pancake in disbelief. How is this even happening to him? He wants this on every level possible but can’t process that it’s actually reality. He doesn’t deserve it yet he won’t decline any of Jaebum’s advances because he’s just as weak now as he was the night before, crashing into a confession under his dazed state. There was no real way to tell if he would have done it in a right mind or not. His own determination and will mean nothing. He’s gone back on promises to himself many times. This time might’ve not been any different. 

He just doesn’t want it to end though he has no clue as to what he’s doing. What if he messes up? What if Jaebum ends up hating him? What if…?

“Look at you two.” A familiar voice goads beside them. Youngjae looks over his shoulder to see Jinyoung standing there, dimples proud and eyes perceptive. “How cute.”

Youngjae wrenches his wrist out of Jaebum’s grasp, to no one’s apparent surprise. His fading smile sizzles right off his lips.

“Hey,” Jaebum hisses playfully. He takes Youngjae hand in his and interlocks their fingers. Youngjae feels the heat rising from his stomach, steadily, at first, and then all at once. His cheeks could stop traffic, he’s sure of it. 

“Don’t mind me.” Jinyoung plucks a dumpling from a steaming metal tin and takes a bite, tipping the dumpling like one would a top hat. “Just a hungry man on a quest.”

 

A walk along the beach is just what Youngjae needs. He just needs himself and the sky. There’s a long deck that connects glass doors, leading from a tiled space with nothing in it but two elevators, and a fire escape, to the sand. The sun is going down at a rapid pace. Only twenty minutes after Youngjae stepped out of the doors the horizon is an electric plum shade, melting quickly into navy blue, and finally indigo dotted with twinkling stars. The lights on the side of the building come up, splashing pale, orange light about three-quarters of the way out on the sand from the deck, leaving the sea a picture of dark, moving shadows. 

Youngjae finally gets up from a chair on the deck and waddles out to the short stairs that eventually disappear into sand. If it weren’t winter and freezing like the arctic out here he’d probably already have his boots and socks off. It looks soft. He ventures farther out to where the light vanishes, using the swoosh of the waves as a safety net for staying on land. 

Wind bites at his face but Youngjae doesn’t turn away. He stops to take a deep breath of the air that burns his nostrils and stings his throat before moving on. It’s large and empty, exactly what Youngjae needs to think. 

He doesn’t panic when a shadow drifts off to sea. He’s no longer afraid, just irritated. 

Youngjae is afraid of the body that lowers itself next to his. He relaxes though when Jinyoung’s face is barely recognizable underneath the sheet of darkness. His voice is clear and calming.

“You seem like the type to be out here,” he says.

Youngjae burrows deeper into his coat, and says, “So do you.”

“Thinking?” he asks.

“Yeah,” Youngjae answers. 

“Can I think, too?” Jinyoung asks again. Youngjae finds the dark sparkle of his eyes in a quick once-over of his huddled body, knees cushioned against his chest through the thick coat. Jinyoung grins easily, dimples invisible under the shade of night. Youngjae grins back.

And that’s how they end up sitting by the shore for over an hour, in silence. 

Youngjae doesn’t say anything and Jinyoung doesn’t say anything and they both just sit there. The teen has to admit that sharing his thinking time with someone else feels nice. He has the reassurance that if he wants to talk he can, but he doesn’t want to and that’s just fine by Jinyoung. 

The sea gurgles and churns waves. They sometimes lap over the tip of Youngjae's boots. He doesn’t mind, is too distracted to mind. His mind is wrapped around a shape in the water that seems eerily familiar. It makes the most sense that it would be a buoy of some sort. Youngjae knows this, but he can’t help but wonder if it’s not, and what that makes it if it’s not. Why does he even care? He shouldn’t.

When Jinyoung finally speaks, after another hour of sitting and thinking and waiting for something, it’s to ask Youngjae a question he wasn’t expecting at all. 

“What are you looking at?” He’s whispering for some reason.

“Nothing.” Youngjae shakes his head. “Should we go back inside? It’s late, and freezing.”

“You really don’t want to ask?” Jinyoung pries.

Youngjae shakes his head, squints hard at the shape that once was there but isn’t anymore, shakes his head again. “No. We should go inside.”

“Okay.” Jinyoung stands and stretches his legs, brushing off sand and snow alike. “Let’s go.”

“Let’s go.”

The ride up to their rooms is quiet. Jinyoung stands a little closer than he needs to, and Youngjae doesn’t step away. When they step off the elevator his eyes burn from the excessively bright, artificial light. They adjust quickly enough. They walk down the hallway, steps thudding hollowly on the carpet. When Youngjae comes up to his door, on the opposite side of the hallway from Jinyoung’s, he turns around, and isn’t surprised to find the man is waiting for him, one hand on the doorknob and smiling gently. 

“Thanks, hyung,” Youngjae says quietly.

“Good night, Youngjae.” Jinyoung smiles and goes inside, shutting the door lightly. 

 

Yugyeom is nowhere to be found. Only Jaebum is sitting on the double bed scrolling through his phone by lamplight. He looks up when Youngjae comes inside, smiling in this boyishly excited way that makes the teen want to die.

He takes his coat off.

“Jae-yah.” Jaebum sets his phone down next to him and opens his arms. Youngjae kicks his shoes off and leaves them by the door, walking over to the bed and sitting on the edge. The man looks cozy but Youngjae can’t bring himself to do it. 

“This punk…”

Youngjae squeaks even if he doesn’t mean to when Jaebum wraps his arms around the teen’s waist and pulls him further on to the bed. They collapse in the sheets. Jaebum swings his good leg over Youngjae’s hip and anchors himself in that position. Youngjae feels swaddled. He can’t say that he hates it. His neck warms and his stomach flutters.

“What did you do all this time?” Jaebum asks.

“Nothing much.” Youngjae shrugs. “I talked to Jinyoung-hyung. He’s cool.”

“Yeah, he is. I’ve known Jinyoung for...four years now? He’s a chill dude, and a great listener.” 

“Oh.”

More silence.

A thought occurs to Youngjae as they’re lying there. 

He attempts to say something when apprehension holds his tongue captive.

“Hm?”

“Nothing.”

He resists the urge to whine when Jaebum dislodges his leg and pushes Youngjae on his back because what is he, a doll? The man rests one hand on the teen’s stomach, provoking all types of squishy emotion to erupt within Youngjae's body, and props his cheek on the knuckles of the other. He blinks at him in curiosity, not prying but not allowing for Youngjae to escape either. 

“What are you thinking?” His hand lowers, inch by aggravating inch, until it’s resting on Youngjae’s lower abdomen, right on the waist of his jeans and the teen panics on every level imaginable. He tenses impossibly tight. 

Just as this disturbing cloud is hung directly over Youngjae and his internal temperature is boiling Jaebum’s hand changes course, his fingers burrowing beneath the hem of Youngjae’s shirt and pressing lightly, stroking, warm and soft. He actually swoons this time. His anxiety disappears in a puff of smoke. It leaves nothing behind. 

“Does it hurt?”

“What?” Jaebum looks more intently at Youngjae, confusion now mixed in with the passion. “Does what hurt?”

Youngjae hesitates. He doesn't know if he’s going too far. What if it’s too personal? Does he even have the right to ask something like-

“Does what hurt?”

“Your…?” Youngjae motions downward, towards the man’s foot, or prosthetic. Jaebum’s eyes follow. It’s the first time Youngjae's seen him look so burdened, conflicted. 

“I’m sorry if that wasn’t okay or-”

“No, no, it’s just that, no one has ever asked me about it besides my family.”

“Was that rude?” Youngjae gasps quietly. “I didn’t mean to-”

“Jae-yah.” Jaebum chuckles. If Youngjae weren’t deluding himself he wouldn’t notice the affection in the man’s tone. Even if it is him being delusional he enjoys the moment. “I’ve never really told anyone so there was no one to ask. You’re fine.”

“You really don’t have to answer-”

“Stop that.” Jaebum breathes out a tight, only slightly amused laugh. Youngjae obeys. “Don’t worry like that. You can ask me anything you want. If it really is over the line then I’ll let you know, promise. But don’t feel so scared to ask me something you’re curious about. Just ask, and I’ll take of the rest, okay?”

Youngjae nods, smilingly timidly.

“Four years ago, when I was Sophomore, I played football. I told you, remember?”

Youngjae nods again. “Yeah, I remember.”

“Right.” Jaebum chuckles, humorless, eyes no longer staring into Youngjae’s but roaming, neither here nor there. “I was supposed to carry on the Im legacy. I wasn’t anyone special, not like my dad was when he was my age or my grandfather before him. But I could catch and throw a ball, even run a little. I’d be a spitting image of my dad if he had half of his skill tied behind his back. That was me.”

“Was your dad mad?” Youngjae asks.

“Not really.” Jaebum shakes his head. “He was just so happy that I’d decided to play. He kinda hoped my older sister would want to. He had nothing against girls playing like some of the other dads. But, she wanted to study design instead. So he took what he could get. Anyway, one day I was supposed to be going to practice. I usually walked. It was really sunny that day so I turned it into a little stroll, went a little slower than normal.”

Youngjae notices the strain in Jaebum’s voice. He gathers whatever thin courage he has and takes the hand Jaebum has on his stomach. He holds it, stroking the knuckles with his thumb. Jaebum starts at this. His eyes find Youngjae’s again and he smiles a little, gaze still cloudy and...sad, for some reason.

“...I was just walking, and this car came flying down the street. I gave some space between me and the street because I,” his voice wavers, “I didn’t expect him to run over the curb like he did. The next thing I knew I was on the ground, bleeding, and in pain. I was there probably for half an hour before some lady jogged by and called 119. I was in too much pain to even get to my phone, and it was just in my pocket but still…”

“Hyung.”

“My foot hurt so bad, Jae-yah.” Jaebum’s eyes water, lips tremble. Youngjae is so confused and unsure of himself when he puts Jaebum’s hand against his chest, right over his heart. It just feels really important, and the way the man stares at it for a few seconds, eyes dragging up to Youngjae’s face afterward, he thinks it was a good idea. Important and all. 

“I found out at the hospital that during that time my foot had caught an infection and we could either go through a long, expensive surgery with low success rates, or just get it amputated.” His breath hitches sadly. Youngjae thinks a piece of him breaks. Jaebum’s scratchy and thick voice pokes a hole in his soul and creates a vacuum where all of the oxygen in his body is being sucked into. “My dad insisted that it was alright and me being okay was the most important thing. But, you should’ve seen his eyes. He lost his dream that day. Our relationship isn’t the same now. He acts--acts like he lost his son when I’m right here. I’m always right h-here.”

“Hyung.”

“I'm right here, Jae-yah. Why can’t he see that? I’m right-”

“Hyung,” Youngjae says for the third time, this time louder and more assertive, as if he doesn’t feel just as weak as Jaebum looks. The man stops talking abruptly, looking into Youngjae's eyes more urgently than he ever has. He’s looking for something, searching desperately for it. The teen wishes he knew what the man was looking for so he could give it to him and make everything better. Youngjae doesn’t have a clue what to do with himself and he certainly is at a loss for words, actions, and thoughts right now. So he does the only thing he can think of.

He scoots closer, tipping his chin up all the while, and kisses the man with every sliver of understanding he can muster. He pours all of the things he can and can’t grasp the meaning of into the cock of his head and the press of his lips. Thier mouths happen to slot perfectly against each other. Whether that’s a coincidence or not Youngjae doesn’t have the time or capability to fret about. The only thing that matters is that Jaebum is hurting and Youngjae is trying to comfort him the only way he knows how. He’s never been good with words anyway. 

“Jae,” the man whimpers against his mouth, running his hands blindly through Youngjae's hair. The bottled energy in Jaebum’s body leaks into Youngjae ruthlessly. He experiences the sweet and savory shock of pleasure all the way down to his ankles. His core is vibrating. Jaebum is warm and smells like home. He always has. 

Youngjae remembers that he has to close his eyes eventually. The darkness intensifies the sensation of Jaebum’s tongue pushing against the seam of his lips. He opens them soundlessly. He allows Jaebum’s tongue to tangle with his. Something dribbles down his chin. One of them is drooling. The thought is less disturbing than he could’ve ever imagined. 

They part with a strange, soft squish. Youngjae is too emotionally charged to breathe correctly. His breaths come out in jagged puffs. He’s melted, utterly.

“I’m sorry for all of this,” Jaebum groans, winded. “I should have...should have-”

“Whenever you want to talk,” Youngjae leans up to kiss him, briefly, and settles back again, “ just talk.”

 

Youngjae wakes up on his side. His eyes slide open, blinking curiously in the dark. His bones are satiated with heat. He’s the most comfortable he has ever been. Nothing seems out of place. Even Yugyeom’s snoring, quiet yet full of bass, has a place in the early morning. 

Jaebum’s chest rises and falls underneath Youngjae's cheek. He couldn’t be more comforted.

“I never answered your question.”

Youngjae melts when the man speaks. His voice is deeply rich, and cavernously low. 

“What question?” 

“It doesn’t hurt, anymore. It used to throb. But, since they sewed up the wound it grew some extra layers of skin. It’s really tough now. Doesn’t hurt.”

“Is it hard?” Youngjae asks. “Do you need help?”

“It’s mostly frustrating,” Jaebum says. “I got used to it, though.”

“Oh.” That’s it. 

“Yeah.”

As the two are lying there, snuggled and content, the sun rises slowly outside of the balcony doors, blinds undrawn, and musky indigo explodes in bright peach and gold. The birds would be chirping now if they weren’t all squawking it up in some tropical region. 

Yugyeom stops snoring.

“Is it morning already?”

Youngjae breaks away from Jaebum’s grasp, rolling to his right and popping his head over the edge of the bed. If the teen weren’t a picture of sleep himself he’d have a few choice words for the random arrangement of his friend’s hair and the dent raked across his cheek from sleeping buried in his arm. 

“Get up, loser. We’re going to breakfast.”

“I hate you.” Yugyeom rolls over.

“Yeah, yeah.”

 

After breakfast Youngjae declines Kuhn’s offer to watch Mark and Jackson battle each other in air hockey. It’s sure to be a savage battle with wild screeches and possibly some crying. But, all Youngjae needs is warm covers, his laptop, and maybe Jaebum as well. 

He’s ready to make a bee-line for the elevator when the group disperses to carry out whatever activity. What he doesn’t expect is for Jaebum to take his hand, and as firmly as he does. He pulls him in the opposite direction of the arcade, away from the eyes of the others who are following them with deft curiosity. Youngjae doesn’t have time to blush because they are down the adjoining hall and headed, now recognizably, to the glass doors that lead out onto the deck.

“What are you doing?” Youngjae watches Jaebum pull one coat--Youngjae's coat--off of a bench against one of the walls and hand it Youngjae. The teen wears it in record time, no questions asked. 

“Where are we going?” 

Okay, maybe one.

“On a walk.” Jaebum pulls on his own.

“Oh.” You’re one eloquent bastard. 

They walk through the glass doors, hand in hand, and onto the deck. It’s freezing, but Jaebum’s natural heat prevents Youngjae from minding it too much. A few couples are milling about. Some stray singles. 

“This is nice and all, but it’s freezing, and a little gray,” Youngjae says apologetically. This is probably supposed to be romantic. It’s not like he has any experience in that department. He’s pretty sure that he shouldn’t be here shuddering with cold, though. 

“I just wanted to breathe,” Jaebum says.

“Oh, okay.” Youngjae shrugs. “I could use a little breathing myself. Sounds nice.”

 

They spend the rest of the day ghosting the entire group. A pretty portion of the morning and afternoon is spent in the dimly lit arcade. Everyone, even Youngjae, clusters around the air hockey table to witness Jackson lose his throne to a gloating Mark; the former frowns in disbelief after five losing games and gives up soon after. 

They run around on the beach until the sky darkens and forces them to go inside for dinner. The menu is more appetizing. Youngjae has some kimchi and chicken, not exactly healthy, per say, but delicious nonetheless. Youngjae lets his guard down some, even laughs at Jackson’s tasteless jokes and Mark’s progressive insults. They seem like a lovely pair. 

“Let’s do something fun,” Kuhn says around a mouthful of food. He swallows. “I brought a Ouija board.”

“No, thanks.” Jinyoung shakes his head with a frown. “I like living just fine.”

“You’re not going to die.” Kuhn stresses. “Whoever’s in come to my room after. Okay?”

 

Turns out everyone is a little interested. Yugyeom and Jaebum haul a weakly protesting Youngjae to Kuhn and Jackson’s room. He likes to live, too. 

They push the chairs to the wall and gather in a circle on the floor beside the bed. Just the sight of the board creeps the hell out of Youngjae. The dark sparkle in Kuhn’s eyes should give them a hint that he’s enjoying this to the utmost. 

“Who’s ready to surrender their soul to the Underworld?” Kuhn nearly cackles.

“Not me.” Jinyoung tries to make a getaway only to have Jackson pull him by the arm and he plops back on the ground, legs crossed and face deeply troubled. “If I get my soul molested by spirits I’m so coming back to haunt the living fuck out of all of you. Watch.”

“Oh, hush, hyung.” Kuhn rolls his eyes. “Now, everyone hold hands and repeat after me.”

They listen to Kuhn’s facilitation for about twenty minutes while nothing actually happens. Jinyoung freaks out at one point because the glass thingy jerks to the left out of nowhere, but only because Jackson and Mark are fabricating some plot to “make him pee his pants”. It’s working. 

The night deepens and no one is actually shaken up by anything besides Jinyoung. He looks absolutely petrified. Youngjae has to admit it’s pretty funny to watch a grown man pushed almost to tears. 

“I’m tired.” Kuhn yawns.

“Bedtime.”  
After a general consensus is reached to meet up at eight to have breakfast before they leave everyone separates. Jaebum offers to sleep on the floor but Youngjae plans to take his turn on the floor. He snuggles up in the covers and nods off immediately.

He doesn’t dream.

 

The time it takes to eat breakfast doesn’t matter. The distance from the main entrance of the place to a nice, warm car makes him no never mind. The only thing in the world that holds an ounce of significance is that Yugyeom coerces Youngjae into sitting up front instead of the back. 

And it’s the most exciting thing he has experienced. Jaebum gives him all types of looks he can’t immediately decipher. Youngjae doesn’t deserve this kind of attention. He’s not sure what about him makes Jaebum want to stay and call him beautiful. Maybe it’s infact the money and that this is his job; to babysit him for a month or two. And, yeah, Youngjae himself probably shouldn’t be getting so attached. Though, he can’t lie and say that it isn’t exhilarating to discover himself through Jaebum. There is a possibility that he can understand why the man finds Youngjae to be everything he’s sure he is not: interesting, important, worthy. 

Those looks mean something. Probably.

Surprisingly enough, Youngjae doesn’t fall asleep. He’s too charged up to close his eyes for even a minute. Youngjae knocks out about two hours into the drive. It’s just Youngjae and Jaebum left in the thick of the average rush hour traffic, except it’s snowing heavily, borderline storming. The radio is on low, echoing back his thoughts in the form of some sappy, love tune he’s too embarrassed to switch off. 

 

Jaebum drops Yugyeom off at his house and he walks inside, though not before he gets a chance to wink, none too discreetly, and Youngjae is too nervous that Jaebum will notice to pop his friend in the mouth. 

 

Youngjae's dad decides it will be a nice idea to tell Youngjae that he’ll be away for another week and that he’s going to wire money into his bank account. Half is for home expenses and the other half is for Jaebum.

“You don’t seem too upset, squirt.” He’s pouting, definitely. “You’re not throwing any wild parties, are you?”

Youngjae laughs because he and his dad both know that the teen can’t stand noise and fuss. If Yugyeom were a shittier friend he’d have already dragged Youngjae to one of his other friend’s parties and tried to get him stoned. He wouldn’t even last five minutes without once contemplating walking off the edge of a bridge. It’s a joke, it’s supposed to be funny. He laughs. 

 

Now that Youngjae isn’t sunken into the abyss that is Im Jaebum, he can concentrate better in his lessons. He now understands that Shakespeare is one sadistic wacko, among other things.

“English is done,” Jaebum announces with bright enthusiasm. Youngjae's shoulders lighten a little, but inflate with pressure once more when the man smacks a thick book covered in plus’ and minus’ on the table. “I hope you have your seatbelt on. It’s going to get a little wild in here. We got algorithms.”

“Shoot me.” Youngae groans. 

 

Late nights are like a blessing Youngjae doesn’t know how he earned. He can’t sleep, but that's not new. He sits at his window nook and stares up the bright, round moon. With his sketchbook in one hand and a pencil in the other he draws whatever comes to mind. 

Unsurprisingly, a soft face with long, long, straight hair and muddled features appear after some time. Youngjae continues because he has nothing better to do. 

It’s funny how someone he couldn’t be more disconnected with is ruling his subconscious in a way he’s never thought of before. Who is this women, and why does she want to wreck him so badly? His dad has raised him just fine to this point and yet he can’t keep himself from wondering about her. 

What lullaby did she sing to him at night? Did they ever go on a family vacation to a beach? Did she yell at him to put on sunscreen before his back shrivelled up and scarred? Who is she?

Did she ever love him?

Late nights are like a blessing because Youngjae has no filter. His brain is in sleep mode while his body alive and well. 

He stands from the window nook, discarding his sketchbook and pencil on the way to the door. He scrambles over some things in the dark. He eventually makes it to the hallway, though. It’s unapologetically lightless. The teen picks his way through the shadows to reach his dad’s room. He turns the doorknob and cracks the door open, cringing when it emits a high-pitch whine.

Moonlight paints some of the carpet in pale grey as the rest is left invisible. A bedside table jumps out at him as he makes his way to the bed. He lets loose a squeal and stumbles back. 

“Jae?”

Jaebum’s voice relieves some of the pain. Youngjae nods, then realizes the man can’t see and answers in a strained whisper.

“Yeah, hyung.”

“Can’t sleep?”

“Mhm.”

“C’mere.” 

The teen doesn’t hesitate to climb in beside Jaebum and curl up in him. He revels in the warm security he feels when he lies his head on the man’s chest. 

 

A week passes in the blink of an eye.

Youngjae sleeps with Jaebum the night before his dad comes home. 

He feels a terrible sense of urgency when the man holds him, like they’ll never see each other again. This can’t be farther from the truth. He’ll still tutor him. But, they won’t be together everyday anymore. He’ll pick up more kids and get even busier. Their relationship will come to an inevitable end. 

Done.

“You’re so tense.” Jaebum moves his hand from Youngjae's shoulder to his his head, lightly stroking his hair. “What are you thinking?”

Youngjae sniffs, head pillowed on the man’s forearm and eyes quietly searching his in the dark. He wants to cry because he’s feeling too many emotions. Jaebum might like him and Youngjae definitely likes him back and in a nice world they could’ve worked out. But, his dad is coming home tomorrow and Jaebum is leaving and their story that’s only half-written will end there. There’s no way Jaebum will still want him after he doesn’t have to spent day after day with him. Whatever spell that’s cast on the man to blind him of all of Youngjae's flaws will lift and he’ll come back to his senses.

Youngjae does not want him to go, but he will. 

He can’t go.

Don’t go.

“I won’t.”

The teen snaps his lips shut and quietly curses. 

“Jae-yah.” 

Youngjae melts. His bones liquify and there is nothing left of him besides skin stretched over a tangle of nerves, all buzzing and red-hot. 

“Don’t call me that,” he whines. “You’re just going to leave anyway.”

“I promise I won’t leave. Can’t you just trust me?”

If the man hasn’t figured it out by now, Youngjae can’t. 

“What can I do to make you trust me?”

For someone who struggles to trust himself, he doesn’t have an actual answer. As much as he tries to push it out of his mind it won’t go. Why didn’t she want me? Was I not good enough? What did I do wrong?

“Just hold me,” Youngjae whispers finally, after having decided that thinking so much hurts his eyes. He closes them and sinks heavily into Jaebum’s embrace. He’s going to miss this. 

 

Unsurprisingly, Youngjae doesn’t hear from Jaebum for a month or so. Flowers are sprouting in the dark corners of the teen’s heart and he has no one to share it with because April is National Exam Month. About every student across the world, college or not, is bashing their brains out studying for tests. Youngjae shouldn’t feel disappointed; he predicted this.

Sure, Jaebum sends the occasional text that says something like ‘good morning, beautiful’ with a string of hearts. But, a cheesy text doesn’t come close to hearing his voice or seeing his face which the teen misses so badly. Their relationship is coming to a slow, terrible end and nothing in the world ever hurt so much. 

 

“Jae.” His dad doesn’t bother knocking when he comes into his room. His “#1 dad” apron is wrinkled and only hanging onto his body because of the neck strap. The strings around his waist aren’t tied. He looks more tired than Youngjae remembers. 

“We have a visitor.”

Youngjae has the strangest feeling that his dad looks like a ghost, or, at least like he’s seen a ghost. The lines around his eyebrows are creased more deeply than usual.

“What visitor?” Youngjae asks, dabbing the tip of his paintbrush into a cup of murky water before letting go and allowing it to sink into the cup on its own accord. His eyes are still trained on his dad’s, trying to piece together a puzzle where the pieces fit somewhat but not exactly.

“I think you should see yourself.” His dad’s chest stutters visibly. Youngjae doesn’t need to see anymore. He stands from his easel and follows his dad out into the hallway. White light from the sun spills through the open blinds, illuminating the living room as they walk down the stairs. The upstairs seems dark in comparison. Youngjae follows closely behind, hardly believing that he actually has to squint because damn it’s bright. 

“Shit.” His dad nearly trips over a step, and Youngjae catches the crook of his elbow just in time before he goes stumbling down the rest of the steps. His dad looks back up at Youngjae seeming abashed and confused. He smiles gently.

“Thanks, son.”

“Dad, are you okay?”

“Fine, fine. Just-” He doesn’t finish the rest, just pats Youngjae’s hand so the teen can let go. He does. The stairs have a small landing where the direction turns from straight to crooked, where a few steps are left before reaching the living room. 

His dad advances on but Youngjae stays put. 

A woman is sitting on the couch in front of the television, someone Youngjae could point out of a crowd any day yet has no relation to whatsoever. Her long, black hair is shining in the midday sun. She’s tanner than he remembers, though. And she’s less luminescent. Her eyes aren’t glowing red, either. Just a clear brown. She looks like a regular person. 

The only thing that’s weird is that she is sitting in his living room and not dancing into the ocean like he’s seen so many times over. 

The words sits on the tip of his tongue, not daring to slip out. 

She doesn’t want you.

Then, why is she here?

The woman notices him standing there. She smiles meekly. She flashes his dad a careful, apologetic look before standing and walking up to Youngjae. The teen finds his legs moving without his brain telling them to. 

She’s also shorter than he remembers. The top of her head is level with his chin. 

“Youngjae.” The woman’s eyes are full of scary emotion. What if Youngjae's eyes are like that, too?

If she doesn’t want me, why is she here?

“I missed you,” her voice cracks on the words, and her lips are trembling. The teen nods solemnly.

“It’s been so long since I’ve seen you. You’ve gotten so big, my handsome man.”

He nods again, flinching internally. 

Then they just stare at each other. Youngjae wonders where his mother has been all these years to just show up now, out of blue, with this expectant look on her face like he’s supposed to jump into her arms and pick up where they left off.

Who does she think she is?

You never wanted me.

“You left,” Youngjae says, anger rising in the pit of his stomach the same way it rises in his voice, unconscious but powerful all the same. “You snuck away in the middle of the night and...just left. You didn’t call, or even write.”

“I’m sorry,” she says. Youngjae is blind to the regret in her voice as his own gets louder and less stable. 

“It’s been ten years. I always thought there was something wrong with me. I thought I was a crappy son and that’s why you didn’t want to stay. Why are even back?” he chokes out the words around the sobs rattling in his throbbing chest. His face is hot and his eyes are blurry from the unshed tears and everything hurts but he can’t think of a way to express himself. So, like a gigantic baby, he starts to cry. 

“Youngjae…”

Skinny arms wrap around his middle and take hold. The teen doesn’t want some stranger touching him like this. He barely wants his dad to see him blubbering like the toddler he is, unable to stop the tears even if he really wants to. 

“Youngjae.”

And just like that, as if an arctic wave crashes against his senses he wrangles himself out of her grip and steps back. His chest is still heaving and his eyes are wet, red, and trained directly on hers. He shakes his head.

“Why did you leave?” 

“Youngjae, please.”

“I waited 10 years.”

“Youngjae.” His dad’s voice catches him off-guard, uncharacteristically strict. “Just sit and hear her out.”

“But, dad-” he immediately protests.

“Son.”

Youngjae freezes, is nearly shaking when he walks past her to the couch and sits, palms cupping his knees and spine rigid. Her small feet somehow produce a hollow thump on the hardwood. The teens starts, obvious, and large in stature despite the fact that he only shifts a little when she sits next to him. His dad stays standing next to the blank television. He’s crossing his arms and staring off somewhere. 

Why doesn’t he look angry? She left them. She just up and left and never took the time to write or-

“I’m sorry.” She places her hand on his arm, ducking her head to catch Youngjae’s eyes. He glares at her. He does so unconsciously even if he isn’t apologetic in the slightest for it. The soft, tired lines around her almond eyes cause Youngjae to lighten up. He dips his squared shoulders a little, blinking until he probably looks less deadly. 

He’s still pissed, though.

She’s looking at him and he’s looking at her and he can’t help but draw out the features of her face that he’s seen in himself in the mirror, frustrated to find that half of his physiognomical makeup is strange and unfamiliar to him. His chest hurts now. He needs to cry again, but he won’t. Probably.

“When you were five I was diagnosed with stage two stomach cancer,” she says, straight-faced and in severe contrast with Youngjae who feels like he’s just been run over by a freight train. The remnants of his frown evaporate into the air and he scoots closer, just until his knee is grazing against hers. 

“I didn’t want you to see me go through that. Because my father was diagnosed with cancer when I was in high school and I had to live, up until the day he died, hating him for leaving me all alone.” Youngjae is fully aware of the pressure, how it shifts from his forearm to his hand. He would've looked down if the fresh tears glittering in her eyes didn’t have him warped. “He stopped fighting just when we started to get some hope again.”

Youngjae frowns deeply. His anger is competing with his compassion. 

The battle is dizzying.

“I’m in remission now.”

He should be happy. 

“That’s good,” he finally says, hesitating over the final word, unsure, “m-mom.”

“Yeah.” She sighs. “I’m in remission. We can be together now. I missed you so, so much.”

His mom (wow, feels nice) hugs him and doesn’t let go for a very long time. Youngjae looks over at his dad, who’s gone teary-eyed by now. The teen picks up his hands, stares at them for a solid minute, and then wraps them tentatively around her waist, fingertips touching. She’s so small, too small.

Youngjae is utterly confused. The hatred or indifference that he imagined he would feel should this situation ever come up is missing in the moment. Nothing but strong empathy and devotion engulfs his body. 

“I missed you.” She squeezes him tighter. Youngjae flips off his brain and just enjoys the moment. His mom is here, and even though it would not be unusual for him to resent her, he really doesn’t want to. 

He has a mom again.

Feels nice. 

 

I’m coming to pick you up.  
-Jb-hyung

Youngjae stares the message glowing bright on his phone’s screen. He analyzes it in an attempt to make sense of it. He rearranges the letters to check if they create some secret code, tries saying them backwards, and even holds the screen up to the dusty overhead light in his bedroom to reveal any extra letters. Nothing comes up. 

He’s just gotten settled in his spring/summer routine: gaming, msg, attempting to do something productive, end up sitting at easel for two hours staring at a blank canvas, praying for a miracle, one not coming, sleeping, sort of. 

And now this is happening.

Youngjae hasn’t seen Jaebum’s face in two months. They barely talk anymore. Jaebum is busy and Youngjae understands that. He’s a culinary student working part-time as a tutor who doesn’t get enough sleep. Youngjae gets it. It would be easier for everyone if the man stopped trying to convince Youngjae he was special and ended the relationship. Youngjae could stop dreaming, get real goals. Sure, he’d be heartbroken for a while, splash some grey splotches on a paper and call it grieving. But that’s nobody's business other than his own. 

Of course Youngjae texts back ‘k’ and waits for his demise. 

 

He showers and throws on some jean shorts, matching it with a short-sleeve graphic tee of a splattered tomato. He does something with his hair. A little gel goes a long way. He goes downstairs to wait in front of the television looking like something other than death. 

Even if Youngjae doesn’t deserve him Jaebum is undoubtedly a positive influence. 

“Where’s my handsome man going today? To Yugyeommie’s?”

Youngjae turns when his mom’s voice sounds behind him. He gets a chill when he takes in her pretty smile. Her hair is twisted into a ponytail-bun-thing and she’s wearing the smock Youngjae gave her. He smiles back. It’s nice to know his talent came from somewhere.

“I don’t actually know where I’m going?” Youngjae confesses truthfully. His mom’s brows crease and she cocks her head a little, confused. 

“Someone is coming to pick me up,” he elaborates.

“A friend?” Youngjae should be offended the way she sounds so taken back. It’s valid shock, he supposes. 

“Who happens to be a boy.” The teen nods.

“A boyfriend?” his mom questions. It’s Youngjae's turn to look confused. It sounds normal put so simply. That’s what Jaebum is, right, his boyfriend? The teen nods again, albeit a little more slowly, and his eyes dart quickly to the ground before back up at his mom. 

“Yeah, he’s my boyfriend.”

“Have fun then.” She skips over to kiss him on the forehead. Youngjae’s face tingles. Feels nice.

“Thanks, mom.”

 

Twenty minutes later, a car pulls up in his driveway. Youngjae can see through the big, square window behind the television, blinds undrawn. He considers waiting for Jaebum to knock on the front door. He decides against it, though, because it would mean a bit of explaining, and awkward confrontations. 

“Mom, I might be gone for a while.” Youngjae pats his pants pocket for the familiar lump of his phone, and grabs a jacket out off the coat rack, flipping it over his shoulder. His mom comes scampering out of the kitchen as he is slipping his sneakers on.

“Be safe, my little man. Call me if anything happens.” She waves. Youngjae looks at her, smiles and nods. He opens the front door and steps out into the warm sunshine. The sky is blue. There’s a warm breeze blowing across his cheeks. Anyone with a heart and soul can’t be upset on a day like today. What makes it even better is that Jaebum is here in the flesh. 

Youngjae walks up to the car. He opens the door and gets in, closing it back again. 

“Hyung.” Youngjae smiles at Jaebum. He’s swooning again, dammit. If Youngjae thought Jaebum looked good in sweaters it was obviously because he’d never seen him in a short-sleeve, plaid button up over a white tank top. All Youngjae sees is red and muscle and, wow, his boyfriend looks good in anything. Not fair. Blue jeans, vans, and a red snapback complete his whole ‘disgustingly drop-dead gorgeous’ look. That’s not fair at all. 

Jaebum doesn’t say anything for a little, just stares at Youngjae until the teen himself has the overwhelming desire to curl up in a ball and disappear. His eyes are just as brown and just as warm as Youngjae remembered them being. 

“You’re so beautiful, baby.” Don’t blush. Don’t die. Don’t look stupid.

“Stop.”

“I missed you so much.” Jaebum cups Youngjae’s left cheek, stroking his thumb across the cool skin. “I’m sorry for not calling more. School bites.”

“I missed you, too, hyung.”

Youngjae can’t say anything (as if he actually could form words) before Jaebum leans in, eye closing, and kisses Youngjae. The teen is stunned for long, whole seconds. He’s excited and surprised at the same time. The man smells amazing. His other hand comes up to coddle Youngjae's other cheek and he he presses more insistently into his space. His stomach is tingling and his throat is hot. Jaebum is warm, so warm. He smells like home.

The man cocks his head, knocking his hat off, and pulling back to nibble at the teen’s lower lip before pressing their lips together again. Youngjae doesn’t mean to moan when he does but Jaebum’s hands snake down to his waist and he can’t help that other places are being stirred. He doesn’t know what comes over him, the haze, probably. He throws his arms over the man’s shoulders and gathers his hand at the nape of his neck. 

Heavy breathing and shallow clunking in the close quarters and wet noises from sloppy, urgent tongues and lips are deaf on Youngjae’s ears; blood is pounding so ferociously in his head that he only has the capacity to focus on where Jaebum is lying his hands on the teen’s body, lower and lower and that’s not innocent at all…

“Hyung,” Youngjae whimpers, breaking their kiss to breathe and gaze up Jaebum. His vibrant, pink lips, pinched eyebrows, minutely bobbing adam's apple is a picture of perfection. Youngjae doesn’t know what he did to deserve him. 

“Would you like to spend the night with me?” Jaebum asks, looking excited and happy in a way that metaphorically sweeps Youngjae off of his feet. 

“Sure.”

Jaebum looks down for a second to retrieve his lost hat (which is between Youngjae’s thighs, whole other story) and then back up again. He settles the snapback over Youngjae’s viciously fluffed and messy locks, giving Youngjae a quick kiss on the cheek that he savors for far too long.

 

Jaebum’s apartment is an hour drive away from Youngjae’s house, maybe forty-five minutes without traffic. The seclusion is bittersweet; on the one hand he’s strangely thrilled that they have this privacy, and on the other he feels a little anxious because that doesn’t leave him much room for escape. 

He hasn’t decided what he favors yet. 

 

It’s average.

Youngjae lived in an apartment for a short period of time when his dad was in between jobs. It looks similar. There’s a kitchen right off of the front door, a living room designed simply in beige and black, and a hallway to the left of the living room that houses three doors. One is skinner than the other two; probably a linen closet. A bathroom. A bedroom.

And above all, everything is clean. Youngjae feared that beneath all of that obvious perfection Jaebum was secretly a hoarder, or a cat lady. The first fear is debunked immediately, and the other is knocked clean out of the park when a pretty cat comes stalking sleepily from the opposite side of the couch. No others appear. Her snout, ears, tail, and paws are a dark burgundy while the rest of her body is ashy gray. She blinks up at Youngjae with crystal blue eyes and releases a quiet meow. 

“She’s so cute,” Youngjae says fondly, bending down to rub behind the cat’s ears.

“Her name is Nora,” Jaebum says.

“You’re just a princess, aren’t you?” he coos. Nora just stares. She must have Jaebum’s genes. 

 

One of two things happen when a person confronts their fears; it’s called a fight or flight reaction. They will either stand up to that fear and beat it, or become more deeply scarred and come away with reduced chances of conquering that fear in the future. 

Youngjae doesn’t fear the dark, per say. Just what lurks in it. 

Abandonment lurks in the dark, and oblivion. It was dark that night and it has been since a few months ago. It’s a strange occurrence, the changing of a human heart. Something that it obsessed over could just as easily be buried under new experiences and sensations, only resurfacing once it has been rid of its meaning. No longer relevant. 

The dark is no longer relevant.

Jaebum is in the dark, and he’s not scary. The opposite, really. Youngjae is in the dark, too, and he’s only a danger to himself. 

It rains at night. 

Actually, it’s haul-ass storming. 

Youngjae doesn’t mind. Jaebum is here and Youngjae doesn’t mind. His mom never hated him and Youngjae doesn’t mind. The shivers aren’t coming, probably never will again. 

It’s a funny thing, how the human heart decides in a single moment what it likes and doesn’t like. In this moment, Youngae likes how Jaebum holds him as if the world isn’t spinning outside and they are the only two beings in the universe, everything else irrelevant. Youngjae likes that he can see good things in himself when he was never able to in the past.

Part of the reason Yugyeom and Youngjae are friends is because they were the only two sitting on the edge of the sandbox in first grade. Youngjae because he hadn’t attempted to interact, preferring to keep to his own space, and Yugyeom because the other kids thought his wooden figurines were weird. He needed to have the ones with Power Rangers.

So Yugyeom essentially said ‘fuck you’ in innocent-ish kid talk, something like ‘i don’t want to play with you, either. your face is stupid’ and he stomped over to where Youngjae was drawing with his new friend Stickie, named so because it was, indeed, a stick. 

Youngjae, being ever timid and careful, tried to reject the boy’s friendship. But Yugyeom wouldn't stop and Youngjae was never outspoken enough so they ended up sticking together. 

Yugyeom has his coping method. He chooses to believe in what he does despite his foster family being Catholic. A place in this world doesn’t come easy to some people. Youngjae lost his for quite some time before finding just as he was losing hope.

That’s what life is, right?

 

Youngjae is woken in the morning by his side vibrating. He takes a moment to admire his boyfriend’s sleeping face before reaching underneath him and unearthing his phone from a very indecent place. How did it get there?

Do you need Plan B? I’m gonna pass CVS on my way to school.  
-Yug, 9.23am

 

Youngjae doesn’t remember what he had texted back when he’s woken up around eleven by another vibration. Jaebum is awake when he checks his phone this time. He kisses Youngjae’s forehead and then snuggles up to him, looking down at his phone screen with Youngjae. 

Before you embark on a journey of revenge, dig two graves.  
-Yug, 11.47am

Sure. For you and your stupidity. I’ll make em nice and comfy, dumquat.  
-you, 11.52am


End file.
